


Beyond the Storm

by attackamazon



Series: Empire and Legends [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Intrigue, Mystery, Politics, Romance, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackamazon/pseuds/attackamazon
Summary: With Ulfric Stormcloak dead and the Empire victorious, Skyrim can begin the long road back from war at last. As the Jarls convene for the Moot, Gallica - Dragonborn - finds herself once again embroiled in the struggle over the throne, even as she plans for her marriage to General Tullius. But history has a way of interrupting the best of plans, and a new threat is already on its way.





	1. A Claim to the Throne

Dawn reflected off of the great dome of the Blue Palace, perched out on the cliffs like a sapphire jewel rising from the sea, as the city of Solitude came alive around it. Every day in the capital of Skyrim was a busy one, never more than in the aftermath of the bloody civil war, but the last few days had seen an extra burst of activity and excitement. The Moot, the council of Jarls that would elect the next king or queen of Skyrim, was finally at hand.

There was a festival air in the streets as banners of victory and welcome streamed gaily from the eaves of houses and from the parapets of Castle Dour, but there was also a noticeable current of trepidation about what was to come. With the Empire's tacit support behind Jarl Elisif, the wife of the previous High King, most assumed that the heavy mantle of rulership would fall on her young shoulders.

More than a few words of concern, however, had been raised in the quiet corners of the Winking Skeever Inn about the queen's age and competence. What Skyrim needed now was a strong leader, one that could unite the people and heal the wounds of war. A leader like the late High King Torygg might have grown into one day. Or, though no one would have admitted it out loud, a leader like Ulfric Stormcloak could have been had he been able to put aside his rage and pride. And so the people of Solitude waited and watched as, one by one, the Jarls of the Nine Holds assembled at the Palace and the country held its breath for peace.

~~0~~

Gallica rose later than usual, already feeling out of sorts as she wiped the sleep from her eyes and remembered what lay ahead of her. She had been up too late the night before, her presence being required at a reception for the visiting Jarls, each of whom seemed to want more of the Dragonborn's time and attention than the last. She had been alternately congratulated on her victories and mercilessly interrogated about the battle and her opinions on the Moot before General Tullius had rescued her to discuss the security of the event the following day.

Though where Tullius was concerned, she reflected with an smile, politics was hardly the only reason that she had been losing sleep lately.

A month had passed since Gallica had returned to Solitude and almost three had gone by now since the terrible final battle that had culminated in Ulfric's death at her hands. The memories were still tender and bone-sore, like the jagged scar on her side from Galmar Stone-Fist's final act of vengeance in this world, but day by day she was learning to live with it.  She was needed here.  There was work to be done.  Ulfric was gone, but she wasn't.  Though, she nearly had been.  
  
In the immediate aftermath of the battle, she had been lost - paralyzed with grief and such intense self-loathing that Gallica could barely stand to be in her own skin. She had been unable to wash the memory of Ulfric's blood from her hands though she scrubbed them until they bled. Remaining in Windhelm, a city heavy with ghosts, had become more torturous with each day that passed and so, when given leave to rest and recover, she had fled with no thought as to where she would go. Anywhere but Ulfric's city and its nightmare memories.  Anywhere that would allow her to finally disappear from the crushing agony of the world once and for all.  By chance, she had met with a recruiter for the Dawnguard on the road – an orc who had failed to recognize her as the Dragonborn.  She had allowed him to recruit her anonymously into Isran's vendetta against the vampires, fully expecting to die in the campaign. She had died, in fact, if only temporarily.  It was that choice - to rejoin the living world and those she still deeply cared about - that had begun to heal the part of her that had been shattered in the Palace of the Kings.

And Tullius had still been waiting for her there at the end of it. She would never forget Ulfric, but no longer did Gallica feel the need to bury her future beside him in his crypt either.  Though it would take some time for her to become used to being loved by someone again, Tullius had proven himself more than a match for the challenge so far. She looked forward to their limited time alone together in the evenings. They were not yet lovers in the physical way - he teased her about having to marry him first to prevent her from learning his shortcomings until it was too late - but it was the company of Tullius the man, with all his passions and sharp mind and growling good-humor, that Gallica needed most in her life and which gave her a sense of peace once again.

Not that Gallica was likely to get much peace today.

She dressed quickly, tied back her long hair, and called her housecarl in to help her don the iconic dragon-plate armor that had become a revered icon since she had defeated the dark dragon Alduin and warded off the apocalypse of Nord legend. The Jarls and the people would expect to see their Dragonborn today.  The title no longer chafed at her as it once had.  With the prophecy fulfilled, she would turn it at last to her own purposes.

A few bites of bread, and she was on her way to the Blue Palace, hurrying through the bannered streets and falling in with the dignified hustle in the Palace courtyard as the late-arriving nobles sorted themselves out by rank and exchanged gossip.

"Dragonborn," a familiar voice called out of the crowd as Gallica entered the elegantly designed great hall. She looked up to see Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun standing on the walkway overlooking the lower entrance.

The Whiterun party was the last to arrive, having been absent at the reception the night before. Balgruuf seemed in particularly fine fettle this morning, the care-lines on his brow eased, the gold of his circlet and torc glinting in the morning light, and a triumphant grin on his face. Gallica felt a smile come to her face, too, and found that she was genuinely pleased to see the Jarl.  He was one of the first allies that she had made in the chaotic early days after she had come to Skyrim, and she made her way up the stairs to clasp his arm heartily in welcome.

His reception was equally gratifying, as he clapped her on the shoulder. "It is good to see you again, my friend. You gave us all quite the scare with your disappearance."

"I took some time to reflect after the war.  But, as you know better than anyone, I always turn up when I'm needed," Gallica explained, flashing a facetious grin. 

She nodded briefly to Hrongar, Balgruuf's blond hulk of a younger brother, who stood to one side looking rather uncomfortable in his court attire. She sympathized, being a woman of the field and not the court herself.  Hrongar inclined his head in a silent gesture of acknowledgement, but the big man remained aloof.  The Jarl's smile, however, took on a conspiratorial cast.

"I think Skyrim will have even more need of you now, Dragonborn."

Gallica turned her gaze back up to her friend quizzically, but more information was not forthcoming. There was clearly something on Balgruuf's mind, but he was not ready to share it with her just yet. Still, Gallica knew, patience was not one of her friend's virtues, and he would come out with it sooner or later.  The Jarl gestured towards the corridor that led to the council chamber.

"But, come. Will you join Hrongar and me at the council today? You are a citizen of Whiterun after all."

"I think Tullius already has a claim on me," she ventured as she caught sight of Legate Rikke across the room, scanning the crowd like a falcon.  Balgruuf's gaze followed hers and she shrugged apologetically. "A soldier's work is never done."

"Truer words were never spoken," Balgruuf chuckled, nodding graciously and waving her off as Gallica turned and hurried towards Rikke.

"There you are," the dark-haired Legate hissed tersely.  "I was about to send someone to find you."

If Balgruuf was looking more pleased with himself than usual, Rikke looked more on edge. She was resplendent in her carefully polished parade armor, but Gallica remembered how much the Legate detested these ceremonial occasions and politics in general. Well, they were all going to get their fair share of that over the next few days. Before Rikke could continue, a herald moved out among those assembled.

"Way for the royal blood of Skyrim! The Jarls' Moot is assembling now in the high hall!"

"Let's get this over with," Rikke muttered and Gallica followed her back to the large meeting chamber where the fate of Skyrim would be decided.

~~0~~

Though not uncomfortably crowded, the Moot chamber milled with activity as the Jarls and their advisers settled themselves down around the tables.  Servants hurried to place pitchers of water, wine, and small trays of food to tide over what was likely to be a long morning of discussion. As the interim ruler, Jarl Elisif took pride of place at the head of the hall.  She was much as Gallica remembered her: tall, slender, and pretty in a girlish way although her expression was serenely grave.  Her queenly stature was marred only by the slightness of her form in the great high seat. It made her look even younger than usual and, if not for the bulk of her enormous housecarl standing firmly behind her, it would have been easy to see her as weak.

Gallica's eyes fell immediately to Tullius seated directly to her left, his noble Imperial features and military bearing accenting everything that Elisif was not. From the way he tried to seem disinterested in the young Queen, Gallica immediately recognized that the General felt the incongruity as well and was calculating on how best to leaven the visual effect.  He was already accused of having too much influence over Elisif. Quietly, Gallica and Rikke made their way over to stand at attention behind the Queen, lending their own formidable presence and understood approval to her suit.

After the refreshments had been dispersed, the doors to the chamber firmly secured, and an opening prayer intoned by the High Priest of the city, finally the chamber grew silent and Tullius stood up to speak. Gallica watched as he rose to his full height, cleared his throat slightly, and scanned his audience, making careful eye contact with each of the Jarls in turn.  Whatever grumbles Skyrim's Jarls might have about Imperial hegemony, no one could have any illusions as to who was in charge in the room.  Even before other feelings had become involved, Gallica had admire this quality in the General. Rarely had she met anyone who carried themselves with the same confident control that Tullius seemed to exude naturally. Although a decade climbing the ranks in the Legion had taught her much about command, Gallica knew that she had a long way to go before she could rival that level of self-confidence under fire.

"Since the death of High King Torygg, at the request of his widow Queen Elisif and on behalf of His Majesty Emperor Titus Mede II, I have shouldered the burden of Skyrim's government during a time of war. With the traitor Ulfric Stormcloak dead and victory declared, it is time that the powers granted in trust to me during wartime were returned back to a true ruler of Skyrim. Therefore, I urge this council to choose wisely a High Queen or King that will govern Skyrim effectively and as a true peer and councilor to the Emperor."

"Does the Emperor propose a candidate, General Tullius?" rapped out the recently installed Jarl Brina of Dawnstar, her voice ringing clearly and crisply in the quiet hall.

Although retired and well past her fighting years, it came as no shock to anyone that Brina Merilis had been a Legion officer when she was younger.  The woman was the embodiment of military discipline, her posture erect and her tone clipped and formal.  Even her taciturn housecarl still wore his Legion armor.  Though Gallica's primary experience with Dawnstar had been with the rather disagreeable and now deposed Jarl Skald, she had heard only good things about Merilis so far and the northern hold had settled down immensely since the former Legate's elevation.  Despite her partiality to the Empire, Merilis had managed to gain the respect of both the loyalists and the few remaining Stormcloak supporters and was of a much more reasonable temperament than her predecessor, so Dawnstar seemed to be in good hands.  No small wonder, though, that it would be the retired Legionnaire who would first pose the question of the Emperor's will and no doubt much would be made of that in private later.

"Though the ultimate decision lies with the Moot, it pleases me to extend the Emperor's support to Jarl Elisif.  In default of blood heirs, as Torygg's wife, she has the strongest claim on the throne of Skyrim under Imperial law," Tullius answered.

A soft murmur went up from the assembled as he took his seat once more.  This was hardly unexpected.  Tullius had been resolute in his support of Elisif from the very beginning, although some saw this as opportunistic given her age and experience. 

Maven Black-Briar, the newly seated Jarl of the Rift and clandestine power over much of the city of Riften, narrowed her dark, intelligent eyes and smiled as she toyed with the silver goblet in front of her.

"But does Jarl Elisif accept this generous nomination?" the magnate inquired reasonably.

All eyes turned to Elisif who, with a glance at her steward, rose to speak.

"I do accept the Emperor's nomination. By ancient Nord tradition, the wife of a deceased Jarl has a right to rule in his stead if no other heirs exist. By Imperial custom, the Jarl of Solitude has always been High King of Skyrim. On those grounds, if this council deems me worthy, I will proudly wear the mantle of High Queen in my husband's place."

"Indeed," Maven agreed smoothly, the corners of her mouth tipping up even further.

Gallica felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, as she was suddenly struck by the mental image of the raven-haired magnate toying with Elisif like a sabercat toying with a lost fawn.

"One can hardly argue with established tradition," the Jarl of Riften continued conversationally, unhurried, but with a deadly sharpness in her tone all the same, "but there are those - perhaps even here in this room - who are disposed to think that your youth and inexperience would be a hindrance to your reign. Especially now, with so much at stake. How would you answer them?"

An uncomfortable silence descended on the chamber as Elisif considered her reply. Gallica could see the shifting glances among the assembled Jarls, which told her that Maven had only spoken aloud what most of them had been thinking. Elisif cleared her throat.

"I am young and it is quite true that I have not had the many years of valuable experience that you, my peers, have gathered over the course of your lives. But a new age is coming to Skyrim. We have the Dragonborn here with us as proof of that. She has brought us safely through the dark time of Alduin's doom.  With her aid and with the incalculable value of General Tullius' leadership, we have weathered the storm of the war.  The old legends have been fulfilled.  Perhaps an age has come for learning new ways and for new legends. And that is the province of the young, who have not yet become hardened and set in the old ways of doing things. Should I retain my husband's position as Jarl of Solitude and High Queen of Skyrim, I will rule as my Torygg would have done: with justice and honesty and in solidarity with our Imperial brethren. Torygg was a young man also, but who among you considered him less for it? I ask only that you grant me the same consideration."

It was a clever response and well-delivered.  As Elisif took her seat once more, it was plain to see that her words had also impressed others in the room. It would take more than fair words to convince the more skeptical of the Jarls, though, Gallica knew. Jarl Igmund of the Reach stood, his long face bristling with the steel grey of his beard, and nodded curtly.

"I will support Jarl Elisif for High Queen of Skyrim. Our traditions allow it, the Empire is favorably disposed towards her, and in my experience a crown is no heavier on a young head than an old one. I will follow her as our High Queen."

A general susurrus of conversation began and was cut short again by a harsh laugh from the back of the hall.  Gallica craned her head to see who had emitted the offending sound and was not surprised when the thin, sallow face of Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal appeared. The aging seeress rose from her chair like a shadow. Eschewing the elaborate dress of the other Jarls, Idgrod appeared much the same here in the Moot as she did in her own hall in the swampy lands of Hjaalmarch: clad in dark-colored severe breeches and tunic with precious little gold or ornamentation to be seen. She looked every inch the raven-crone of her namesake.  It increased the effect of her already eerie aura.

"You lend your support so quickly, Igmund," Idgrod pointed out, sweetly.  "Does it mean so little that you would throw it about before we've heard what other candidates may step forward?"

Igmund scowled at her from his chair but said nothing in reply, and Idgrod turned her sharply amused gaze around the room, obviously enjoying the discomfort she was provoking in her peers. Well did Gallica remember what it was like to be on the receiving end of that unnaturally knowing stare.

"None can deny the fairness or sincerity of pretty Elisif here, but we have heard only of  _her_ claim. Are there no others? Does not even one of the celebrated Jarls of Skyrim wish to make his or her own case to ascend the throne?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind being High King," Siddgeir of Falkreath quipped, reclining idly in his chair.  He had been silent all this time, appearing bored with the proceedings, but now he raised his wine goblet as if in toast to Idgrod.  "As long as the wine is as fine as this every night."

A chuckle ran through the room, but settled uneasily as everyone looked around, trying to ascertain if there really were any serious challenges to Elisif's claim.

Suddenly, Balgruuf stood. Though not the most respected of the Jarls for his qualities as a ruler, he was perhaps the tallest in stature and the most impressive in appearance of those gathered.  His stake at Whiterun was the richest of the Holds and his dedication to the history and traditions of Skyrim was without peer. His opinion carried weight and Gallica saw the other Jarl's lean forward, listening carefully, even as she shared their surprise.

 _It can't be_ , she thought incredulously.  _Balgruuf would never seek that kind of power for himself._

Though, she remembered the secret in his smile out in the foyer and grew less certain. For all he disdained the greater politics of Skyrim, had the Jarl of Whiterun finally become a politician at this late stage?

"I have a claim to put forward," Balgruuf began, allowing the statement a moment to sink in.

The noise in the room ceased at once and Balgruuf continued.

"Much has been made over the last few years about our Nord traditions. Who here has not heard the traitor Ulfric bluster and brag about killing Torygg under the laws of the 'True Nords'? That is not to say our traditions should be shunted aside. You all know me and my esteem for the old ways. However, I feel obligated to point out that these traditions of succession are  _modern_  traditions. From the oldest times, succession was determined by deeds and by strength. A king's son could only hold the throne if he were strong  _in his own right,_ not because of what his dead father had accomplished. Skyrim was built on the strength of its kings. The  _Empire_ was built on Nord strength, for Talos himself was one of us. It was by the Empire's traditions that we set Torygg on his throne. May he find glory in Sovngarde forever, but tradition did not save him from Ulfric's Voice."

Several grumbles of protest sounded from the assembled company and Gallica glanced to the side in time to see Falk Firebeard, Elisif's steward, surreptitiously move a protective hand to his liege's elbow. The girl's expression had not changed, but her face had gone dreadfully pale and Gallica could well imagine what must be going through her mind. The young queen had loved her king dearly.  It was well known that theirs had been a marriage of love as well as politics and the reminder of how Torygg had died was likely to press upon wounds that were still fresh.  Though she remained passive, it was clear that Elisif did not thank Balgruuf kindly for bringing up Ulfric. Gallica could well imagine the scowl forming on Tullius' face, too, though she could not see it from where she stood.

"Are we to assume that you're putting yourself forward as a candidate, Balgruuf?" Igmund asked impatiently, his face still creased in an affronted frown from the barb Idgrod had flung at him earlier.

"No," Balgruuf replied, shaking his head. "I seek no other position for myself than my highseat in Whiterun. I come today to champion another."

"This should be entertaining," muttered Siddgeir with a smirk, but he was ignored this time.

The air of the chamber was dense with questions and mounting tension.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Idgrod replied, grinning in such a way that the reality of what was happening finally dawned on Gallica. 

Whatever Balgruuf was about to say, the mad old seeress was in on it as well. This was a setup between the two of them. For what purpose?  Legally, there was no one with a better claim than Elisif.  Who could they possibly introduce as a rival if neither Jarl had an interest in elevating themselves?

Gallica felt her blood freeze an instant later as Balgruuf turned, looked her dead in the eye from across the council chamber, and pointed right at her.

"There is only one viable choice for High Queen of Skyrim - by tradition, by right, and by necessity - and she stands before us here in this chamber. I nominate the Dragonborn. There is no other that I will happily follow."

A roar of voices, all spilling over each other at once, erupted across the hall.


	2. A Question of Precedence

_Queen_ , Gallica thought with a prickling, speechless shudder.

Being the Dragonborn had been bad enough, and now they wanted her to be _High Queen_ _,_ too?

With the Moot in recess to give the assembly time to collect their composure after the shocking declaration, Gallica removed her helm and immediately strode across the carefully tiled stone floor of the great hall towards Balgruuf and Idgrod, who were discussing something in low tones together in the anemic light of the stained glass windows. Idgrod turned, all too pleased with herself, as Gallica approached.

"Ah, Balgruuf, I believe we're due for a lecture," the Jarl of Morthal observed, grinning like a cat with a mouse. 

She didn't want to cause embarrassment to two of her most trusted allies, but neither could she leave this preposterous declaration unaddressed.  Gallica leaned close, whispering angrily although she tried to keep her voice down as best she could.

"What was that all about?"

"The future of Skyrim," Balgruuf replied without a hint of humor.

Unlike his accomplice, he was not smiling.  If anything, the Jarl of Whiterun looked tired, as if the speech had sapped his energy.  He did not allow his stern blue gaze to waver from hers for an instant, though.  Balgruuf was not about to back down now.

Gallica glared at both of them, trying to find coherent words to express her outrage when she noticed Tullius and Rikke approaching out of the corner of her eye.  Cursing mentally, she turned back to Idgrod and Balgruuf.

"I don't know what you two think you're doing," she hissed under her breath quickly, "but this stops right now.  I won't have it."

"Jarl Balgruuf. Jarl Idgrod," Tullius interrupted casually as he arrived. The General's smile was tight, but he was otherwise calm. He had always been the better politician, Gallica reflected. "I think there are a few things we need to discuss, don't you?"

 "I made my opinion clear earlier, General Tullius," Balgruuf replied with wary civility as Gallica stepped back to allow Tullius to take over. 

Balgruuf had never quite forgiven the Imperial General for the pressure brought to bear on him or his city during the war, although he had accepted Tullius' help in the end.  The two men were a match for each other in stubbornness.  Instead of engaging,  Gallica exchanged a glance with Rikke.  The Legate's expression betrayed little but she raised a dark eyebrow as if in question and Gallica shook her head slightly.  How could she have known about this?  If she had, she would have put and end to that hair-brained notion instantly.  High Queen, indeed.  Not for all the brandy in Cyrodiil.

"So I heard," Tullius was acknowledging, maintaining a friendly tone. "I know little of Nord traditions, I admit, but you seem to be an expert on the subject.  Perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity on one point. It was my understanding that the High King or Queen of Skyrim had to be chosen from Ysgramor's bloodline, one of the traditional noble families or their offshoots. As far as we know, Legate Gallica's only ties to nobility are through her Imperial mother. Is this not a contradiction of your ancient tradition?"

"Her dragonblood is evidence enough of nobility," Balgruuf responded coldly. "Did it take nobility for Tiber Septim to found the Empire?"

"You have a point," Tullius conceded and then turned to Idgrod. "And you agree with this, Jarl Idgrod? You believe that this course of action is truly wise?"

"I believe that you can see as well as I can what's coming, General," Idgrod replied raspily, her smile dampening into seriousness for a moment as her crow's eyes glittered underneath thick brows. "Do you honestly believe that poor girl over there has even the slightest chance of standing up to the treachery to come?"

Gallica watched carefully as Tullius stared at the aging seeress for a moment, his jaw working almost imperceptibly, before he glanced back to where Elisif stood near the throne deep in conversation with her steward.  She was certain that Idgrod meant the inevitable treachery of the Thalmor, but one could never be certain. Whatever Idgrod saw in her visions and dreams, the information she chose to pass on usually had more than one meaning. Gallica herself could well attest to that.  There were things that Tullius was privileged to that he could not share even with her.  Messy events in the political landscape.  Dark dealings.  Was there another treachery imminent that she did not know about?

Even so, even if Idgrod's prescience prove true and disaster was coming, this proposal of Balgruuf's was too much.

"I am no High Queen," Gallica interjected strongly, wanting both the Jarls and Tullius to understand her position as clearly as possible before the conversation could go any further. "I'm a soldier.  I'm content to be only a soldier.  Whatever else has been foisted upon me, I have no wish to rule anything or anyone."

A sad smile creased Idgrod's face and Gallica felt a chill of prophecy creep up her spine.

"That, Dragonborn, is one of the many reason why it must be you for all of our sakes."

Before Gallica could think of a reply, Tullius stepped in. The Jarls and their attendants and advisers were beginning to reconvene and there was no time to argue the issue any further.

"I see no harm in discussing it. If the council deems Legate Gallica a viable candidate, we can determine then whether the Legion is willing to release her from service in order to pursue this course of action."

 _Oh, thank_ _the Eight_ , Gallica breathed to herself, feeling a sudden sense relief wash over her.

In the aftermath of the civil war, she had almost forgotten that she was still technically obligated to service in the Legion for a further nine years through her reenlistment. Tullius had not made an issue of it as there was little need to - her commission was of a unique nature - but the Legion nominally had the first claim on her.  Even if the Jarls, by some terrible and unlikely mistake, all agreed to put her to the throne, Tullius could effectively veto their decision by refusing to discharge her commission until she had served out her enlistment. Only the Emperor himself could nullify that decision.  She was safe.

Feeling considerably more at ease, Gallica followed the General back to their space at the tables to see how this was going to play out.

~~0~~

The remainder of the afternoon, once everything had settled back down, was spent considering whether Balgruuf's proposal even constituted a legitimate nomination. Scholars on the lore and history were brought in from the College of Bards to expound on how such unconventional situations had been handled in previous centuries.  Gallica listened, but despite her Nord heritage, the intricacies of Skyrim's ancient and obtuse legal lore were still as confounding to her as they were to most Imperials.

The first barrier - that Gallica was not of the blood royal - fell by the wayside quickly as no one seemed inclined to argue that being Dragonborn was insufficiently equivalent to royal descent.  All of Skyrim's royalty, at least by legend, descended from a Dragonborn ancestor anyway.  Several of the Jarls had only a tenuous claim to royal lineage themselves and so the argument would have undermined their authority as well. The central question for most of the Jarls was whether her dragonblood should trump Elisif's claim by marriage.  Legally, Elisif had at least a right to the Jarldom of Solitude if not necessarily the throne of Skyrim. Even so, Igmund of the Reach and Elisif herself were the only two Jarls to argue this point. The four Jarls that had been recently elevated to fill the places left by Ulfric's deposed supporters were not likely to argue against the technicalities that supported their own claims.

Idgrod and Balgruuf were in favor of anything that would ultimately put Gallica on the throne.  Siddgeir of Falkreath's only contribution was that he would be more than happy to marry Elisif himself and take her off of Solitude's hands. Igmund was unmovably in Elisif's camp, his pride having been injured by idgrod.  The other Jarls seemed uncertain.  By the time the Moot broke up for the evening, however, they were cautiously agreed that the proposal would have to be taken seriously. Gallica was no less qualified for the throne than Elisif.  Gallica would have to offer some sort of official response the following day.

A feast was to be held that night, but the thought of everyone watching her, taking her weight and measure as a potential ruler, and speculating about whether she had put Balgruuf up to it or not made Gallica's skin crawl. Tullius and Rikke found her in the foyer as she was trying to politely extricate herself from Erikur, one of Elisif's more leech-like Thanes, and make a break for home. Whether the oily nobleman was simply trying to hedge his bets or insinuate himself as a potential suitor should Gallica become queen, she was not certain.  Either proposition made her feel ill.

"You'll excuse us. We have duties to attend to back at the Castle," Tullius told the Nord noble firmly in a tone that brooked no dispute.

Gratefully, Gallica shrugged at the affronted Thane and hurried out into the chilly evening after her commander.

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Rikke said, once they were well past the palace guards, "that did not go well today."

"No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. You know that," Tullius remarked coolly, nodding to a city guard who was passing. "Notice that no other serious candidates were proposed. If the only alternative to Elisif they can come up with is Gallica, then we have nothing to worry about. In fact, that may present us with some interesting options."

Gallica felt her heart drop, but before she could protest, Rikke did it for her.  Even in the dim lantern light, Gallica could see the look of incredulity on her colleague's face.

"Sir, you're not seriously suggesting- "

"I'm not suggesting anything yet, Legate," Tullius replied tersely and stopped in front of Proudspire Manor, Gallica's residence.

Firelight flickered in the downstairs windows, creating a comforting glow in the falling dusk, and Gallica felt that the only thing she wanted in the world right at that moment was to be out of her armor, in her own house, and basking in front of a warm fire with a good bottle of mead to chase away all this bother about succession and politics. Perhaps the same thing had occurred to Tullius.  He turned to Rikke.

"Go on up to Dour. I set my scribe to search through the old treaties between the Empire and Skyrim. Have him brief you on anything of interest that he's found. For now, I need to have a chat with Legate Gallica to make sure we're agreed on certain points before tomorrow. I'll be along shortly."

Rikke glanced at Gallica, her expression unreadable, but she saluted and turned to trot off towards the Castle.  Gallica watched her go for a moment, feeling a tension building in her gut.

She and Tullius had taken pains these last few weeks to keep the time they spent together off duty as quiet as possible.  Nothing about the relationship so far was explicitly inappropriate, but the less that was commonly known about them the better off everyone would be, especially among the court and the Legion officers.  It would not do to cause a scandal until preparations for a licit betrothal and marriage were made.  Even so, Gallica often wondered how much Rikke knew. The older officer had worked closely with the General for years now.  Gallica knew that, despite the surliness of the dynamic at times, the two were solid friends. Rikke clearly suspected that something was going on, but the Legate had never asked about it or given any indication that she noticed the time that her superior spent in Gallica's company. If she was at all jealous or concerned, the woman hid it masterfully. As Rikke had also become a good friend of hers, too, Gallica hoped that her relationship with Tullius would not stir things up too badly.

Gallica turned and fished her keys from her belt, opening the door to the manor and stepping into the relative warmth inside. Jordis was taking her ease in the nook off of the kitchen but stood immediately, her eyes shining, as she heard the door open.

"Welcome back, my Thane. How goes the Moot?" the housecarl asked eagerly before noticing Tullius emerge from the foyer.

It was slightly comical to see the younger warrior's face attempt to reconfigure itself into the cool, professional look she reserved for company while still looking hopefully at Gallica for news.

"As well as can be expected," Gallica replied, the first hint of a smile that she had felt all afternoon creasing her face. "Don't trouble yourself. The General and I have some matters to discuss privately. We will be upstairs. If any visitors arrive, tell them I'll speak with them tomorrow."

She turned towards the stairs with Tullius in tow, stopping only to collect a bottle of wine and a little bread from the kitchen. She could feel the housecarl's eyes follow the two of them, fairly bursting with curiosity. It had become something of a game recently, keeping Jordis guessing about exactly what the General and the Dragonborn were up to when they met in the evenings. The housecarl was too proper to ask outright, but too curious by nature not to fish for information.

Gallica was in no mood for games now, however, and she said nothing else until she and Tullius were alone together upstairs with her chamber door securely closed behind them.

"Playing our hand a little close to the table tonight, aren't we?" Tullius asked, but he was smiling. He was in on the game.  
  
Gallica snorted, depositing the plate of food and the wine on a low table.

"She has to know by now."

Seting her helm aside on the armor rack in the corner, Gallica ran her hands through her honey-colored hair to smooth it and sighed. Tullius watched her, the faint smile still playing on his lips, as she unbelted her cingulum and lay it aside as well. She met his gaze with a question, poising at the straps of her breastplate.

"I'll need to get back soon," he answered, but then relented. "Still, it's been a bear of a day.  I think a few moments of respite are in order."

He moved over to her first and assisted her with the difficult buckles under her arms as Gallica stripped off the dragon bone cuirass and pauldrons.

"A septim for your thoughts?" he murmured to her while they worked.

The feel of the rough skin of his hand meeting the flesh of her neck and her arms - subtle caresses - as he helped her lift the heavy plates off of her made her face flush warmly, as it always did. She wriggled out of the remaining straps, took the cuirass from him, and hefted it onto the crossbeam of the rack before turning to help free him from his cuirass in turn.

"I can't believe Balgruuf today," Gallica replied, her irritation returning as her thoughts drifted back to the shock of the Moot.

"I can," Tullius replied dryly, shrugging off the heavy chest plate as she worked it free. "He's a zealot at heart, but a practical one. What the Stormcloaks wanted to accomplish by force, he hopes to accomplish gradually by law."

Gallica leaned his chest plate against the rack next to her own and the General stretched and sighed, running his fingers through his closely-cropped silvering hair. Gallica moved to start on one of his bracers, but he shook his head and caught her hand instead, bringing it to his lips.

"I've little enough time with you tonight as it is without spending most of it on straps and buckles," he told her, raising an eyebrow at her roguishly.

She stepped in to him, her hands moving up the padded cloth over his solid chest, curling around the back of his neck as Tullius' arms slid around her waist.  Kissing him, from the first time in the depths of that dark winter until now, never failed to melt her. He smelled of clean male sweat and leather and the metallic tang of the oil that was used to clean his armor.  There was no other scent in the world that could be as perfect as that.  Her worries evaporated from her as they lingered, arms entwined and foreheads touching for a long moment, and a feeling of safety returned to her once again.  She needed this.  She had come back for this.  And, she knew, he needed it, too.

"Maybe you should stay here tonight instead. It's late, and it's a shorter walk to the Palace in the morning after all," she teased him, knowing full well that he would not.

He chuckled at the temptation and moved away to pour wine into the two goblets she had brought up.

"That would set some tongues to wagging," he replied, bringing her one of the cups and lifting his own. "I can just hear the cries of Imperial conspiracy now. The Dragonborn seduced by a conniving, power-hungry general.  I wouldn't want to go down in history as the man who put a stain on the Dragonborn's honor."

"I don't doubt those accusations are going to be flying soon no matter what we do," she replied with a sigh.

They moved over to the sitting area and he leaned back in a chair with a pained grunt, briefly closing his eyes with the relief of being able to finally sit.  The room was comfortably warm, the light from the fireplace creating a glow over the room and casting mazy shadows across the walls.  Gallica settled herself down, feeling the weariness of the day creep up on her as well.

"I should have known Balgruuf wasn't finished being a stone in my boot," Tullius observed after a peaceful interlude. "He seems to have a talent for interfering - even in plans he knows nothing about."

"How do you mean?" Gallica asked, lifting her head from where she had settled down onto another chair next to his.

The wine was beginning to work on her, creating a pleasant buzz in the back of her head. She was feeling easier at last after the drama of the afternoon. The last thing she wanted to do was dwell on it, but the subject did need to be discussed. And there was something particular on Tullius' mind, clearly.

"I've been discussing our engagement with Rikke," he began, confirming her suspicions.

 _I'll have to get the other side of this story later,_ Gallica reminded herself, raising her eyebrows at Tullius as he opened one eye and huffed humorously at her expression.

"So that you'll stop looking at me like that, we do have her blessing. It's the first time I've ever had to ask one of my subordinatesfor their approval. But there are some problems of command and partiality, as you know. If we were in Cyrodiil, I could simply transfer you to another command under another general, but obviously that's not an option here."

He sighed. "Rikke agrees that your influence carries too much weight at the moment, so it would be foolish to discharge you from the Legion. I had intended to make an arrangement with Elisif for you to be transferred to her service indefinitely after her coronation. That would keep you in the Legion, nominally, but take you far enough out from under my direct command that it wouldn't raise too much of a fuss for us to marry. You could remain in the city, of course, and Elisif would reap certain political benefits in the arrangement."

"Even if the Jarls choose me over Elisif, I won't accept it," Gallica replied simply, shrugging. "We can use the leverage of my commission if we have to.  Then they'll have no choice but to elect Elisif. Problem solved."

"If the Jarls get it into their heads that you're the better choice, I think it's going to be more difficult to refuse than you think. The Jarls aren't fools. They can tell which way the wind is blowing and they know a weak leader when they see one," he replied and stared up into the darkness of the rafters, his expression taking on a shadowed look as his brow creased into a slight frown. "Truthfully, if I loved you less, I'd put you on that throne in a heartbeat myself."

Gallica reached out then and laced her fingers into his where his hand lay on the arm of the chair, feeling him squeeze back. She understood all too well what it was like to be in a situation where there were no good answers and no easy way out.  They were in this one together, though.  That was enough to put her mind at ease.

"I have too much work to do to be tied down in a palace all day," she told him dismissively, attempting humor. "I'll beat it into Balgruuf's stubborn head myself if it comes down to it. He usually listens to me.  Eventually."

Tullius glanced at her, a smile creeping back onto his stolid face, and she willingly let him pull her towards him. He shifted slightly to accommodate her as she settled astride his lap, his hands moving to caress with the firm curve of her waist and lower back. Though he seemed determined to respect protocol and propriety by not bedding her until after the marriage, she had the idea that he enjoyed tempting her - and himself, too - like this on occasion. If the effect it had on him was anything like it was for her, then they really must do something about that official engagement as soon as possible.

"You won't hold it against me if I'd prefer to keep you for myself, then?" he asked, admiring the view as his fingers traced slow circles over her hips..

She grinned at him and leaned closer in response, feeling the tension that confirmed his physical reaction to her as well.

"Quite the contrary. I think you're rather hoping I will hold it against you," she replied, surprising herself with the sultriness of the comment.  She had never been a flirt, even when she was a girl.  Another new talent that she was discovering.

He laughed at that and gathered her into his arms.  This time, he kissed her fully and without quarter, breaking only to continue down her neck until she was wriggling and gasping from the intensity of the feeling.

"I think that's my cue to be on my way or I'll never make it back to Dour tonight," the general growled amorously, leaning back with a self-satisfied air. 

There was a part of him, she knew, that was concerned about the difference in age and whether she - more than two decades his junior - would be satisfied with him.  From the feel of it - the firm heat there where their bodies met - there would be no trouble on that front at all.

"And so all of my clever plans fall to ruin again," she sighed as she let him up from the chair with a mock reproachful glance. "You don't play fair, General."

He was grinning at her as he stood, watching her fetch his breastplate and begin to help him don it once more.

"I play to win. You'll have to make an honest man out of me first. Another reason why I intend to make sure this Moot ends quickly."

When he was re-situated, the picture of military order again, he embraced her one last time, tenderly, as he always did when they parted.

"I will see you in the morning. We'll sort this out and then back to business as usual. At this time next week, this little wrinkle will have been the least of our worries, I'm sure."

Gallica walked him to the door and allowed herself to watch for a moment as Tullius turned back onto the street and started up the slope of the road towards the fortress before she stepped back inside. Jordis had retired for the night already, so there was no one around to pretend for. Still, better safe than sorry.

She climbed the steps back up to her room, kicked off her boots, and stripped down to her tunic before falling backwards onto the soft feather-stuffed mattress with a sigh.  Her arms stretched out in the wide bed, feeling nothing but space at her finger tips. It would have been nice to have had the company tonight after such an unsettling day. For comfort, for the familiar presence in the dark, if not for sex. In truth, despite the playful game of temptation that she and Tullius indulged in when they were alone, she was content to let anything more wait till after the marriage as well.  

It wasn't that she didn't look forward to it.  She did, eagerly.  The anticipation by itself was gratifying.  They were a good match for each other, she and Tullius, in every other respect and, if this whetting of the appetite was any indication, they would be a good match for each other when the time was finally right for _that_  as well.   But Gallica had flung herself too easily into Ulfric's arms during a weak moment once already and the results had been disastrous.  He had ultimately turned her feelings for him back against her as a weapon.  Tullius was not Ulfric, she knew.  When he had had every reason and opportunity to twist her to his will, he had not.  Tullius was pragmatic, but he never forced her choices.  For that, for many reasons, she loved him.  But Tullius was a man of politics and power just as much as Ulfric had been. She was determined not to make the same mistake twice.

Ah, well. Time enough for that once the Moot was over. Gallica rose again briefly to snuff out the candles and slipped back under the covers in the warm darkness.

 _I must be one of the only people in the world ever to turn down a throne_ , she thought to herself before sleep came and she smiled into the darkness despite the sudden stab of sadness deep in her heart.

No doubt, somewhere up in the hallowed halls of Sovngarde, Ulfric was furious with her just at the thought of it.


	3. A Difficult Choice

"My lady, the Dragonborn has requested not to be disturbed. I'm _certain_ that she will meet with you later."

Gallica was already descending the stairs, dressed and armored for another day at the Moot, when she heard Jordis' exasperated voice drift back from the foyer.

 _Now what?_  she mouthed to herself as she reached the living area and peered around the column to see who was there.  Not even an hour after daybreak and there was already a problem at her doorstep.

Beyond Jordis' sturdy frame in the doorway, Gallica spotted the sharp, knife-edged features of Maven Black-Briar. Though the magnate's body language appeared calm, Gallica could tell even from this distance that the glare Maven was leveling on the housecarl would have frightened away a dragon.

"I think your mistress can make an exception for  _me_ ," Maven stated slowly and with icy precision. 

 _If you know what's good for you_  seemed to be the implied addendum.

Jordis shifted uncomfortably, but didn't budge from her stance on the threshold.

 _Braver than I thought_ , Gallica observed with a humorless chuckle and decided to have mercy on her housecarl.

"It's alright, Jordis. I'll handle this," she interjected, approaching the tense scene.

The housecarl turned - her expression a mixture of irritation, relief, and embarrassment - and nodded stiffly before stepping back from the door.  The glare she shot at Maven as she passed however, was chilly.

The blonde bodyguard looked on suspiciously as Maven smiled her thin smile at Gallica. Now taking Jordis' place in the doorway, Gallica could see what looked like a man-at-arms and another young man in expensive clothing standing out in the street, watching the scene with a bored air.

"Good morning, Jarl Maven. Is there something I can do for you?" Gallica asked, forcing her tone to sound more cheerful than she felt.

"Well, now, I was just stopping by to congratulate you on your unexpected rise in society, Dragonborn," the dark-haired woman replied smoothly with a politician's smile.

She had met Maven on a few occasions before during in her travels and nothing about the wealthy businesswoman struck her as agreeable. From everything she had heard and seen, Maven was little better than a criminal and the rest of the Black-Briar family was worse. Tullius had a similar opinion of the woman, but she had vested business interests in Imperial dominance in Skyrim and there had been no one else in Riften at the time who could wring order out of the wartime chaos as swiftly as she could once the Stormcloak-supporting hereditary Jarl was deposed. So far, Maven had certainly done an excellent job of squashing further rebellion and turning the city peaceful and profitable again.

"We were just on our way to the Palace in fact. Walk with us if you are headed in that direction," the magnate invited, stepped back as if to allow Gallica through her own door.

Gallica could hardly think of anyone she would prefer to be seen with less, as Maven was certainly only here to further some agenda and that was dangerous. She glanced back into the house reluctantly, but she had actually been prepared to leave when she came downstairs and could find no excuse that would not seem flimsy.

 _It's not far_ , she told herself, forcing a smile.  _What harm can she do between here and the palace?_

"I suppose I was, in fact," she replied as courteously as she could manage.  She exchanged a weary glance with Jordis as she stepped out into the crisp morning air and closed the door behind her.

It was a clear morning, the sky blue as a robin's egg. The brisk wind that came in off of the sea was cool, but the days were getting steadily warmer and the dragon-tongues and mountain flowers were already sprouting here and there in flowerbeds that lined the road. Gallica tried to concentrate on that rather than the company she found herself in.

"I don't believe you've met my grandson Sibbi," Maven continued, gesturing towards the sullen-looking young man who had accompanied her.

In fact, Gallica had met the younger Black-Briar while she was in Riften, albeit through prison bars.  He was a few years younger than Gallica, with nearly-shaven dark hair and his grandmother's aristocratic nose and brow.  His expression and body language were flush with the haughty air of a boy just verging into manhood. The family resemblance was apparent enough, though Gallica thought that there was something more thuggish about the way Sibbi carried himself - an estimation that was not helped by the fact that he had been serving a short sentence for manslaughter when she had first met him. The grandson looked a rough cub compared to his sabercat of a grandmother, that much was certain. Gallica nodded to him and he smirked back at her insolently.

As they walked, Gallica and Maven in front while the man-at-arms and Sibbi brought up the rear, Maven apparently tired quickly of the polite charade and decided to broach the real point of her visit.

"Let's get down to business. We're both women of the world," she said, her voice lowering and changing to a rougher tone, more shrewd trader now than politician. "Anyone can see that Elisif is a puppet that will dance prettily enough for anyone holding her strings. But you're a different matter and exactly the tonic this place needs after all this unprofitable chaos. I think everyone knows who is going to come out on top here. I just want a few assurances from you before I cast my vote."

Gallica's stomach curdled distastefully at the direction the conversation was headed, but she masked her disgust and kept her eyes on the road. No good would come of offending Maven, especially right now with so much at stake.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Jarl Maven."

"Play the saint if you feel you need to," Maven replied, smiling nastily, "But you know well enough what I mean. A puppet is useful, but they only work when you're pulling their strings and I have my own business to attend to. I would rather see someone competent as ruler, who can take care of business on their own. But, I would like to know in turn that my support was appreciated. And valued."

Gallica stopped and looked at the older woman. They were in front of the Palace now, and she could see the crowd beginning to coalesce in the courtyard through the gates. This was no conversation that needed to be heard by anyone else.

"I have no intention of becoming queen," she told Maven frankly, lowering her voice and looking the magnate directly in her crafty eyes. "Vote in whatever way your conscience dictates, Maven. Even If I were to ever accept the position, I would rule justly, with no favorites or below board dealings."

"Oh, you will be High Queen. I intend to see to that. That's just good business sense," Maven replied dismissively, her dangerous smile only increasing. "But whatever your convictions, you'll learn soon enough that there are some things that can only be accomplished through backroom deals. And you will need my help. Ask your dear General. He'll tell you just the same."

Gallica stared at her frostily, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight. She knew that Tullius had to deal in shady interactions from time to time. Every army had its spies and there were the Thalmor inquisitors, hovering at the edges like ravens over a battlefield, to be pacified. But was Maven implying something else? Was this a hint that she knew about the romantic involvement? It would be just like Maven to have planted her own spies, and who knew what information might have fallen her way.

"Excuse me," Gallica said firmly and turned towards the palace, striding quickly away from Maven through the gates. Though she did not want to offend the new Jarl of Riften, the less said to her the better and Gallica felt that there was nothing further she could saythat would improve the situation.

She made her way inside, where she found Tullius and Rikke in conversation with Elisif and Falk Firebeard already.  She attached herself to their party in order to fend off any of the other Jarls or courtiers who might feel the need to try to make a similar Daedra's deal. They all waited anxiously for the second session of the Moot to begin.

~~0~~

"We have two proposed candidates, but the way I see it, we've only heard from one of them," Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold began, once the Moot had been convened with full ceremony.

Even this early in the day, the room was slightly over-warm from the number of bodies present and Gallica could sense the rise in the tension levels from the day before as well. Who knew what had been said behind closed doors? Maven was only the boldest of the Jarls in her dealings. No doubt, other intrigues were going on under the surface that had not reached her ears. Yet. The Jarl of Winterhold turned to Gallica with a kind smile. She had had little experience with the man, but he seemed an amiable sort, less haggard and put upon than his predecessor. Though, the previous Jarl – Korir- had also been a decent man, too, in his way.

Kraldar's tone was encouraging as he leveled the question that was on everyone's mind. "Dragonborn, what say you to this nomination? Would you become our High Queen?"

Every eye in the room turned to Gallica and she felt her blood surge dizzyingly in her veins. The moment had come. She caught Tullius' eye for a moment and exchanged the barest of nods before stepping forward. The dragonhelm rested on the table before Tullius today. The Jarls would need to be able to read her facial expressions clearly so that there could be no mistake later about what she had meant.

"I am honored, Jarl Kraldar, that Jarl Balgruuf puts such faith in me. I am always gratified to have the good opinion of an honorable man," she said, meeting Balgruuf's eyes pointedly for a moment.

He already knew her feelings on the subject, but he nodded solemnly, acknowledging the compliment. Nearby, Idgrod smiled, but Gallica did not meet her gaze. She looked at each of the other Jarls in turn, instead.

"But I can't accept Jarl Balgruuf's nomination in good conscience. I am a soldier. My skill is in my sword arm and in my Voice, not in ruling a country. I will serve the good of Skyrim and the Empire, of course, but I have no pretensions to rise above my proper place. I think it best, Jarls of Skyrim, if you would choose one from among your own number who has the skill to rule justly, honorably, and wisely. For my part, as an officer of the Legion, I defer to the Emperor and General Tullius in their support of Jarl Elisif."

As she stepped back, she caught Elisif's relieved smile but could not return it.

 _Sorry, Ulfric_ , she thought, briefly. Twice she had escaped the throne - first as Ulfric's queen consort and now as queen in her own right. Hopefully, with this formal refusal, they could finally get on with the real business at hand instead of chasing distractions.

"The Dragonborn is wiser than her years. I suppose that only leaves us with one choice, then," Igmund of Markarth commented with similar relief in his voice, but he was interrupted as Maven Black-Briar stood and called for the floor.

The businesswoman's expression was calm and thoughtful, and that almost always boded ill in Gallica's experience. Quiet descended upon the hall as the other Jarls focused dubiously on the leader of Riften. She folded her hands in front of her demurely as she calmly surveyed her peers.

"I have a few questions for the Dragonborn before we move on, if the Moot will indulge my curiosity," she said, her voice honeyed and unconcerned. No one objected, though more than one uneasy look passed around the room. Gallica watched warily as Maven turned next to her. "I'm sure we all appreciate your concerns, Dragonborn. I have a wonder, though, that perhaps you can satisfy. You say that you are a soldier as if this should preclude you from being a good queen. And yet, in this room alone, you see Jarl Brina, a retired Legion officer herself, and Jarl Balgruuf, a respected warrior in his own right.  There is Jarl Igmund, who was a great figher against the Reachmen in his youth. Surely, you do not intend to imply that _they_  are poor rulers of their own holdings because they are men and women of the battlefield?"

Eyebrows flew up all throughout the room at Maven's audacity and Gallica could hear a few mutterings rifle through the crowd. Beside her, Tullius shifted, but Gallica could not look at him to gage his reaction.

"No, that was not my intention," she replied and saw the magnate's catlike smile increase.

"Indeed, one might see how a soldier might bemore qualified to rule during these troubled years. One of the duties of a High King or Queen is to protect the realm, after all."

"The greatest kings of our past have been mighty warriors of legendary skill," Balgruuf agreed cautiously.

Gallica could tell that even he was not sure where Maven was going with this line of reasoning, though he did not want to derail a potential ally.

"Just so. And in addition to her martial prowess, our Dragonborn has shown a remarkable capacity for diplomacy. She did, in fact, organize a truce so that the dragons could be dealt with during the thick of the war, as we all well remember.  That is was no small feat," Maven replied graciously before turning to Gallica again. The consciously duplicitous glint in her eyes made Gallica's stomach turn. "So, I must ask, Dragonborn, why you seem intent on depriving us of the opportunity to appoint a High Queen of proven - perhaps even legendary, as Balgruuf says - military and diplomatic skill? Surely this is exactly what the country needs at this moment in our history.  Wouldn't you agree?"

"The woman said she was not interested," Igmund growled over the susurrus of background voices.  His fist was clenched around his goblet of watered wine and his expression was deeply annoyed. No doubt he was feeling stung again by having been interrupted and contradicted a second time. "I suppose she has her own reasons for doing so. Why force the matter?"

"The Dragonborn is a humble woman. Who among us, if it were handed to us on a silver platter, would refuse an offer to become High King or Queen, eh?" Idgrod of Morthal croaked. She was obviously enjoying the spectacle and her mad eyes raked the room. "Half of the men and women here owe their highseats to the prowess of the Dragonborn. And all of us have seen her act with great courage and self-sacrifice. Igmund, would you still retain Markarth and the Mournful Throne if not for her successful leadership in the Reach?"

"I believe we can thank General Tullius for that," the Jarl of Markarth snapped back, bristling visibly.

It was his city that Gallica had traded during the Treaty of High Hrothgar, after all. She could not blame him for being bitter about it, especially in light of all the blood that had been spilt getting it back.

"Now, that brings up something I've been wondering about myself," Brunwulf Free-Winter, Ulfric's replacement as Jarl of Windhelm interupted, speaking up for the first time in the Moot.

He was older than many of the other Jarls, care-worn with hair and beard greying to white, but he spoke with both gravity and good-humor. Gallica knew him as a generally kind man with a sincere and charitable nature. He had done much for the minorities of Windhelm, using his business interests and economic clout in the city to shield the Dark Elves and Argonians from the worst of Ulfric's neglect and the Stormcloak pogroms. She hoped that, once everything had been settled, he would be able to see the city reintegrated properly, but that would take time. Windhelm was still not completely pacified and Brunwulf had his work cut out for him just keeping the resentful former Stormcloaks in check.  Now, though, the elderly statesman turned his gaze to Tullius inquisitively.

"It's sometimes difficult for a person to assess themselves honestly. What is your opinion, General? Our Dragonborn has served primarily at your command in the war. I understand she is now among your chief officers. Surely you have some opinion of her qualities as a leader."

Gallica felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized the ramifications of the question. Maven's eyes narrowed in satisfaction and Gallica knew that the magnate had hoped for something like this. The question put Tullius in an impossible position. If he praised Gallica's leadership, it would weaken her argument for refusing the throne. If he minimized her leadership potential, he would be criticizing his own command choices and the Dragonborn, which would not reflect well on him politically. Either way, it weakened the Imperial support for Elisif.

 _Did you plan this somehow?_  Gallica thought, watching Maven and Brunwulf closely, searching for clues of collusion.  Tullius considered his response.

"I have always found Legate Gallica to be a great asset in matters of leadership and strategy," Tullius replied, his voice sober and serious, expressing as little as possible.

Brunwulf nodded, smiling, and turned back to Gallica with an almost grandfatherly expression.

"There we have it then. And I believe I can propose a compromise that will suit us all - even you, Dragonborn. It hardly seems right to choose Elisif simply because the only other proposed candidate has refused. Perhaps you might be good enough to stay your decision until we have had a chance to discuss it. If nothing else, you provide a useful contrast to Elisif and who knows but that you might have a change of heart once you hear what is said in your favor. As much as I hope for a quick decision so that I can return to the work waiting in my city, it does Skyrim no good to choose rashly out of undue haste. Why not let the Moot speak on it first and see if your feelings are unchanged afterwards?"

Attention shifted immediately and tensely back to Gallica and she repressed the urge to shout at them all. 

 _No!_ , she thought, exasperated.  _H_ _ow many times do I have to say it?_  

But, it was reasonable request, and one that she could not think of a rational response to.

 _Do something_ , she thought at Tullius, catching his eye desperately.

"Or, perhaps, there are other impediments on the Dragonborn's mind," Maven postulated slyly. "Perhaps she fears reprisal from the Legion should she undermine the Imperial favor towards Elisif?"

The suggestion sent a uncertain rumble through the room and Gallica saw Tullius' expression harden. Relations between the Empire and Skyrim were still strained even without Ulfric to fan the flames and no doubt more than a few of the Jarls were wary that the Legion would not easily give up its hold on Skyrim's government.

"The Legion's only interest in this council is to see that whoever is appointed as High King or Queen recognizes Imperial sovereignty in these lands. Legate Gallica is free to accept or reject as she wishes in her capacity as Dragonborn. The Legion will not stand in her way," Tullius replied, glaring at Maven and resolutely avoiding Gallica's shocked stare.

But that had been their plan.  Her Legion commission was to have been her excuse.  What was Tullius playing at?  Gallica cleared her throat uneasily, her mind spinning as she tried to come up with a response that would save face for both her and the General.

"I have no intention of changing my mind, Jarl Brunwulf," she replied slowly, but reason failed her.  She could come up with nothing. "However - if it would aid the process of the Moot - I suppose . . ."

"Very gracious of you," Brunwulf acknowledged and turned then to General Tullius. "I propose we hold the first vote to see where we all stand now. Then we can hear the arguments."

There were no objections and so Gallica watched with increasing alarm as Tullius stood and called for the vote. For Elisif, there was Elisif herself, Igmund of Markarth, Brina Merilis of Dawnstar, and Siddgeir of Falkreath. Balgruuf, Idgrod, Maven Black-Briar, Brunwulf Free-Winter of Windhelm, and Kraldar of Winterhold came down on Gallica's side. A simple majority was not sufficient, as six of the Jarls would have to support a candidate before it was considered a decisive vote, but the numbers were already worryingly close. A quick glance revealed the look of surprised concern on Elisif's face as well.

The rest of the session until it was time to break for the midday meal was taken up with arguments from each of the Jarls for their particular choice. Idgrod and Balgruuf reiterated their earlier position. Igmund of Markarth spoke of Elisif's previous experience as queen and compassionate nature, while Maven expounded on Gallica's keen intellect, honorable conduct, and obvious leadership potential. That Maven should be the one to speak of her as "honorable" made Gallica want to groan with irony, but she kept her peace and listened.

Brina Merlis made only a short comment about the importance of swift reunion with the Empire and respect for the Emperor's wishes, though it was clear she was troubled by the way things were going in the Moot already. Brunwulf Free-winter recollected Gallica's righteous stand for the Dark Elves and Argonians in Windhelm and attested to her status as a champion of the people. Kraldar made a surprisingly impassioned speech about Gallica as a progressive leader who combined the best of Skyrim's traditions and history with common sense and a forward-looking attitude. Siddgeir of Falkreath, for his part, made a few forgettable remarks about Elisif's beauty and charm and how perfect she looked on the throne, which seemed to accomplish little except to make Elisif herself uncomfortable. By then, the sun outside the windows was high and it was time to break for the morning.

Gallica waited anxiously as the Jarl's filed out, her heartbeat pounding faster and faster in her chest as she thought back over the debate.  Things were going poorly.  Maven seemed to have anticipated every point of her refusal.  How?  And why did Tullius stand by silently, listening and watching, as Elisif's case grew more and more dubious?  At last, she caught Tullius' gaze as he emerged from the chamber and jerked her head slightly towards one of the corridors.  With a grave expression, he nodded and followed.

There was an open door to an empty study several doors down and Gallica stormed in, making for the tall stained glass windows of the far wall.  By the time Tullius entered and closed the door behind him, her restless energy had overtaken her at last and she was pacing furiously within the beams of colored light.

"This is a nightmare," she exploded without waiting for him to speak.  She could hear the strain in her voice as she struggled to keep her tone down and shook her head, but it did little to clear her frustration. "The Daedra take Maven. I should never have agreed to stay in the running.  I should have held my ground. Shor's bones, I should have known.  I should have known she would pull something like this."

The General was still, listening silently as she vented her agitation.  When Gallica finished shuddering into silence, he sighed and clasped his hands behind his back, approaching her carefully.  His smile was anemic.

"Since when do you swear by the Nord gods?" he asked her, trying to leaven the tension with humor.  It fell flat.  
  
"Since I walked the mists of Sovngarde," Gallica breathed, leaning her face into her hands and trying to calm her pounding heart.  She felt a hand slip onto her shoulder gently and reached back to lay her own over Tullius' weathered fingers.  
  
_I should have stayed there,_ she thought to herself briefly, but banished the thought.  If she had stayed, then Ulfric might have won the war and Skyrim would have been in even greater danger now.  If she had stayed, while she would have spared herself Ulfric's death, she would not have Tullius' arms around her now, as he pulled her back against his chest and rested his lips against the nape of her neck.

"I don't think it would have mattered much if you had continued to refuse. That all felt scripted to me," he told her, gently.  
  
She accepted the gesture of comfort and sighed.

"Do you think she and Brunwulf planned it out in advance?"

"I doubt it. Brunwulf doesn't seem likely to involve himself with a Maven Black-Briar conspiracy. But Maven clearly knew what she was doing today and how the other Jarls would respond. I wouldn't be surprised if she had planted a few suggestions here and there in the right ears."

Gallica pondered for a moment, and then a thought struck her.  _Ask your dear General_ , Maven had told her that morning.  The pieces of the plot clicked suddenly into place and she felt her stomach turn.  She pulled out of Tullius' embrace and turned to look at him, searching his expression.

"Maven visited me this morning. She said that she intended to see me become queen and that I would need her help," Gallica said.  "She had already approached you about it.  Hadn't she?

Tullius' expression did not change, but she had become familiar with him now to read the truth in his eyes.

"Yes," he admitted, grudgingly, confirming her suspicions.  He glanced away, rather than look her full in the face. "Maven was instrumental in the Legion's intelligence gathering during the war. We still use her networks to keep an eye on the rebel presence in eastern Skyrim.  She was waiting for me last night to deliver her reports personally and she made a few observations. One of them being that locking you into your commission to remove you as a candidate for the throne, only to dispense you from it later in order to marry you, would cause a scandal. Which I take to mean that she will see to it that it does become a scandal.  Or worse."  
  
Gallica stared at him for a long moment and then chuckled, feeling her cheeks flaming with emotion as she nodded.

"Gods above us, that woman really does have her fingers in every pie in Skyrim, doesn't she?" She turned her gaze back up to Tullius reproachfully, her tone softening. "So, that's why you didn't intervene today. You should have told me this morning.  I could have put up a stronger front.  I could have tried to sidestep the trap."  
  
The General's gaze remained averted for a moment, but at last he looked back into her eyes.  And that, too, was why she loved him.  Ulfric's pride had never allowed him to endure criticism.  Tullius was strong enough to endure anything, even though she could see her disappointment stung him.

"I suppose I should have," he admitted, before bearing up again.  "We can discuss that later. Now, we need to decide what to do about it."

He was right.  Feelings and should-haves would have to wait. Gallica turned to the windows and looked out over the garden for a moment to clear her mind, watching the city life - tinted in blues and greens - going on as usual outside in the palace garden and the street beyond.

"Elisif and Igmund aren't going to change their positions," she mused at last, as much to herself as to Tullius. "Siddgeir has pretensions of marrying Elisif, so he'll stick by her as long as she gives him hope. And Brina Merilis will vote however you tell her to."

"All it takes is one of those four to break ranks, however, and then we're in a bit of a bind," Tullius agreed moving forward to stand next to her at the window.

He was looking at her, but she did not look back.  This, too, was likely to be part of Maven's ploy: to drive a wedge of suspicion between her and Tullius.  Even so, the political ramifications aside, it was jarring to remember that there were parts of Tullius' work and life that she knew very little about and that he, as the Emperor's representative, was bound by honor and oath to keep secret even from her. She watched a group of children dart down the road beyond the garden wall outside, absorbed in some game or other, and sighed.

"They already know I won't accept it. This is an exercise in futility."

"And if the vote does go in your favor? Since we no longer have your contract as protection, what will you tell them?" he asked, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question.  She could hear the weariness in his voice as he continued. "I find myself in a difficult position, Gallica. It's not easy for me to remain objective where you are concerned, but I must.  The job takes precedence.  We're both bound by that.  Maven is an unprincipled, malicious, criminal old harridan, but she's not wrong in her assessment of you.  When it was between Elisif and Ulfric, the choice was clear. Now that the choice is between you and Elisif, it's equally clear to everyone who the better candidate is. From the letters I've been receiving, I know what outcome the Emperor would prefer."

He shook his head, his lip curling slightly at whatever thought he was turning over in his mind.

"I can never say any of this in open council.  It would be a political fiasco for the Legion to pull away from Elisif now, but it  _is_  true, Gallica.  There is so much that you could accomplish.  It would be wrong for me to stand in your way."

She looked up at him then to see the furrow in his brow, the pained set to his features. Tullius was not an expressive man.  Only with her did he let that wall down, and then rarely like this.  Something more than he was saying was bothering him.  She could see the anguished shadow of it behind his dark eyes and it made her want to fold her arms around him and tell him that everything would work out in the end. They would make it work out, together.  Instead, she sighed and nodded.

"What do you want me to do?"

"What you think is right," the General replied and then he shook his head, softening as he reached out to lay his hands on her cheeks, his warm palms a balm for her wrought up nerves. "I should be the least of your concerns right now.  Don't worry about me. I have to support Elisif publicly, at least until the Moot decides against her, but we will cope. At this point, the Empire will have a strong supporter on the throne of Skyrim either way, so I will have discharged my duty regardless of the decision. If it comes down to it, and we may be lucky yet, do what you need to do.  I'll be fine."

He leaned and kissed her forehead, lingering for a long moment . Something about the touch set off a heaviness in Gallica's chest - as if this were the last kiss, as if he were beginning to pull away from her somehow.  She drew him into an embrace in response, burying her face hard into his shoulder to hold him there with her. When at last they broke she took his hands, kissed them, and looked up into his eyes.

"I love you," she told him with conviction and was comforted when she felt him squeeze her hands in return and smile.

"And I love you, too," he replied with matching sincerity.  His smile creased up further at the corner with pained wit, "But there's work to be done. No doubt they're all wondering how bad of a harangue I'm giving you for not refusing Jarl Brunwulf outright earlier. Put on your best contrite face to save my reputation and let's go join the others."

~~0~~

By the time the Moot reconvened for the afternoon session, Gallica had been approached by almost all of the Jarls who had voted for her previously. Each of them made it very clear that they would only accept Elisif as queen if Gallica herself truly did not wish to take the throne, and more than one urged her to do so. It was Brunwulf Free-Winter's words that stuck with her as they entered the chamber to begin once more.

"I have nothing against Elisif. She was a good queen to Torygg, but there's a difference between being a good queen consort and being a good High Queen," the Jarl told her in his sensible way.  "She could do well enough with the oversight of her advisors, but it would be whoever she marries eventually that would control the decisions she makes."  The elder statesman of Windhelm smiled with a raise of an eyebrow. "You, on the other hand, are fully capable of standing on your own.  You championed the Dark Elves, after all, when all of Windhelm was against them.  You have the strength of character, but you also have the humility to know that you're not above the people you defend.  We need that now more than ever.  I don't know a citizen of Skyrim who would not be proud to claim the Dragonborn as their High Queen. Think on it. You will have all the support I and Windhelm can give, if you choose to accept. We owe you that much for our liberation."

The afternoon session was more contentious than the morning had been. Maven was the first to speak, summing up in her very succinct and business-like way the many reasona why Gallica's potential was superior to Elisif's. Balgruuf spoke next, drawing Maven's points together on the notion that the Dragonborn was a gift of Akatosh, bound to rule and rule well. Igmund, who seemed to have taken up the position of Elisif's chief supporter, argued fiercely against all comers until he was nearly hoarse from talking. The other Jarls listened, throwing out a question here and there until Idgrod stood.

"This is all very well and good, but we have both of our candidates right here. Let's put our questions to Elisif and the Dragonborn themselves instead of speculating on what they would do like a bunch of old women at a spinning circle," the Jarl of Morthal said and flashed a grin at Gallica.

 _When this is over_ , Gallica thought,  _you and I and Balgruuf are going to have a very stern conversation_.

The other Jarls, however, agreed immediately.

For what seemed like hours, Gallica and Elisif answered question after question, from serious concerns regarding the defense of the province to hypothetical situations involving the dispensation of justice to a few rather silly questions from Siddgeir about their preferences for dancing and feasting. Gallica thought that Elisif did well, but could not help but admit that the girl was out of her depth without her advisors to chime in for her. She was good-hearted and more perceptive and clever than many gave her credit for, but many of her answers only reinforced her naiveté about the realities of state.

Finally, as the shadows began to creep along the floors and tables, a vote was called for. Elisif and Igmund spoke first, casting their votes for Elisif as expected. Siddgeir followed suite. Balgruuf, Idgrod, and Maven remained resolute supporters of Gallica. Brunwulf Free-Winter and Kralder of Winterhold enthusiastically lent their votes to Gallica as well, leaving Brina Merilis of Dawnstar as the last one to speak.

"Well, that was a waste of time, we're back where we started," muttered Siddgeir as Brina cleared her throat and stood.

The retired legionnaire looked worried, Gallica thought. She had been quiet through most of the day, only proposing a few questions during the afternoon session, and had seemed lost in her thoughts during the midday break. The Jarl of Dawnstar surveyed her fellows and then sighed.

"I am and have always been a loyal citizen of the Empire. After listening to all that has been said in council today, I feel that I have to do what is best for my people in Dawnstar and for Skyrim," she looked to Tullius and grimaced. "My apologies, General, but I cast my vote in favor of the Dragonborn. I don't believe we can go any longer without a strong military presence on the throne."

The room burst into a thunder of voices along with a smattering of applause from some of the retainers present. Gallica felt the blood drain out of her face, but she did not move or turn to look at Tullius. 

 _Do what you think is right_ , she remembered him saying, and knew that he would say nothing to prevent what was about to happen. It was a decision for her alone now.

"That is two-thirds of the Jarls in agreement," Balgruuf announced, standing. He was smiling broadly and there was a note of triumph in his voice. "The Moot has selected the Dragonborn to be High Queen."

"But does the Dragonborn accept?" Maven replied, eying Gallica with a curious, satisfied smile - just as Gallica imagined a spider surveying a fly in her web might look.

From every corner of the room, expectant faces turned to Gallica and she looked at them all, their breaths caught in their throats to hear her reply. She wanted to refuse.  She wanted nothing more than to refuse and walk out of that room and back into the life she had started putting back together after Ulfric's death.  But seeing those faces, the hopeful expressions, reminded her of another promise that she had made to herself after coming back from the dead world that she had braved as part of her service to the Dawnguard. Akatosh had laid out a destiny for her as the Dragonborn and she had fulfilled it. She would no longer excoriate herself for being what the Divine had seen fit to make her.  She would no longer allow it to be a burden.  She would make it a tool - something to be used to reshape the broken pieces of the world into a place that was peaceful and safe and good. And was this not just such an opportunity?

The world groaned for stability and order and the Empire creaked with its advanced age. How much more could she do to ensure its survival and return to full glory with the throne of Skyrim behind her? How much better positioned would she be to eventually help eject the Thalmor - her dream as much as it had been Ulfric's and even Tullius'?

Tullius had told her to make her own decisions. With him as her consort, she would not be alone, as she had been when she faced down Alduin.  The worst of the restrictions she would face as High Queen could be born between the two of them. She would be able to travel from the capital and trust him to keep a firm handle on the situation in her absence while she helped undo the painful damage of the last war and lead the charge in the war that she knew was still to come. It was, perhaps, not what either of them had ever expected or wanted, but that was the life of a soldier and they would adapt. 

Taking a deep breath, Gallica stepped forward.  She cleared her throat and met each pair of eyes among the Jarls in succession.

"You have all heard my thoughts on this subject," she said, her mouth going dry and her heart leap into her throat. "Though I am honored, you know that it has always been in my mind to refuse. But, as I have recently been told by so many, this is not a decision to be made lightly and I cannot simply disregard the wisdom of the Elder Council and of people for whom I have such great respect. So, I ask you, Jarls of Skyrim - is this truly what you want?  All of you?"

"It has always been my desire," Balgruuf replied strongly, his voice carrying notes of triumph.

"Indeed," Idgrod Ravencrone crowed, her crow's eyes sparkling in the falling light from the windows.

"Windhelm supports you," Brunwulf Free-winter approved, smiling.

"And Winterhold, as long as I hold it," Kralder added, his rich voice sounding genuinely pleased.

"Yes," said Maven, simply, her smug expression unchanging.

"So long as you maintain faith with the Empire _and_ the people of Skyrim, you will have Dawnstar at your back," Brina Merilis stated carefully.  
  
After a tense moment, Siddgeir sighed.

"Oh, why not?" He raised his cup to Gallica as if ready to get the tedious enterprise over with. "Everyone already knows she's won. Hail the Dragonborn. Let's get on to the feast."

"And I will support her, too," Elisif added, eliciting more than one surprised gasp from the assembly.

Igmund looked on aghast as the current queen rose from her throne and turned to Gallica. She smiled, a genuine expression though somewhat brittle and fraught with barely suppressed emotion.

"I've only held out because Skyrim needed a leader during the war and to secure justice for my Torygg. I thought that I could continue to be the leader that my husband was, but you have done so many things for my country, for my city, and for me personally that I never could have done. Torygg has been avenged.  His spirit can rest easy in Sovngarde because of you.  And so, who am I to stand in your way?"

Gallica watched incredulously as Elisif stepped gracefully aside, leaving the throne vacant. Her steward hurried up behind her to lay a hand on her shoulder in comfort. There was no doubt from the younger woman's face that it had taken a great deal of personal strength to admit defeat and Gallica was moved by it. There was little time to reflect on this, though, before all eyes fell on Igmund, the last of the Jarls to speak. He stared at Elisif for a moment longer and then turned his gaze to regard Gallica with a stony expression.

"Well, Igmund?" Maven asked finally. The Jarl of Markarth's face hardened.

"Markarth has always been loyal to the _crown_ ," he said more than a little bitterly.  "I will accept the Dragonborn as High Queen."

And so attention turned finally back to Gallica.  Even the dust motes hanging in the afternoon sunlight seemed to wait anxiously for her answer. She looked at Tullius one last time as he stood watching her in return. His features were tight and inexpressive, but his eyes found hers and he nodded almost imperceptibly.  His blessing, for whatever she said next.

 _For what I'm about to do to both of us, I hope you can forgive me later_ , she thought at him, and stood up to her full height, picking up the dragonhelm from the table and holding it between her hands.

"My father was a Nord of Bruma, but his father was Skyrim-born.  He was a true Nord, a man of great honor, and he passed down a piece of wisdom to my father and through my father to me: of those who have been given much, much is required.  The Divines have given me power beyond anything I would have sought for myself.  I cannot dishonor them and my ancestors by failing to use their gift well.  And so- "

Gallica paused, nearly choking on the words.  Her hands tightened on the helm as she dropped her gaze to the fearsome fangs and bony plates of the dragon skull from which it was made.  She felt Tullius' gaze on her there a few feet away on the other side of the throne, waiting for the decision that would change their lives forever.  She felt the Jarls, each of them radiating a thousand hopes and fears for what was to come.  In a dim, primitive place within her, she felt the shade of Ulfric Stormcloak looking on, enemy and lover, the High King who would have been.  She straightened, drawing herself up along with every ounce of strength that she could muster.

"And so - if this council is unanimously agreed - I will accept the office of High Queen of Skyrim and I will do my utmost to be worthy of it."

 _Divines help me_ , she added to herself, her nerves singing a song shriller than a child's penny whistle, as a tide of cheers and applause swept across the room.


	4. A Marriage of State

It took a few hours for the full realization of what she had done to finally settle on Gallica.

The congratulations, praise, and words of advice that were heaped onto her through dinner in the great hall seemed to wash over and around her and it was not until she finally managed to retreat to the room that had been swiftly prepared for her in the Palace that she was able to think clearly about what lay ahead of her.

High Queen.

Alduin's doom was a threat that could be vanquished.  The Stormcloak Rebellion was a war that could be won.  Ruling a country, however, was a task that would stretch on and on for the rest of her life - however long or short that might be.

Outside Gallica's window in the private wing of the Palace, Solitude blazed with light. Colored lanterns had been hung from every building and shone their light over the revelers in the street, celebrating the announcement of their new Dragonborn Queen. The entire city below her seemed to roil with people like an anthill and the faint jangling melodies of numerous musicians interspersed with bouts of cheering filtered up to her ears through the glass.

 _I'm responsible for them all now_ , Gallica thought as she stared out the window, feeling as if her body were slowly turning to lead.  _Everything I do will affect them somehow; every decision I make will help someone and harm someone else, no matter what I decide._

The idea of it made her feel sick to her stomach and suddenly very, very alone.

Not for the first time that night, she wished Tullius was there with her to calmly assure her that everything was going to straighten out in the end and that she  _could_  do this.  The end of the Moot, however, had meant urgent work for him back at Castle Dour. He had promised to see her tomorrow and that they would talk then, brushing her fingers with his surreptitiously as he left for comfort.  The gesture had made the panic rising in her belly smooth somewhat, but it did not protect her now from an ocean of worry about what was to come.

The room that the staff had prepared for her was comfortable and spacious. It was not the royal chambers, Gallica had insisted that Elisif be allowed to stay where she was at least until everything was official, but it was still well-appointed with silver gilt , dark exotic woods, and expensive brocade. Someone had even brought in a selection of clothing, sensibly realizing that Gallica would only have what was on her back until her own clothes could be fetched from her house.

 _I wish I was in my own house_ , Gallica thought as she took in the opulence.

A palace no more belonged to a monarch than a barn did to the prized horse that inhabited it.  She had grown used to the quiet and independence of living in her own home - a place that belonged only to her and to the people she invited to share it. She settled down in a chair with a sigh, kicked off her boots, and began to unbraid her hair.  Despite the comforts heaped around her, it was going to be an uncomfortable night.

She was just starting to hunt through the dresser for a comb when a knock sounded at the door.

 _Please, don't let this be an emergency already_ , she prayed, but went to the door anyway and was shocked to find Elisif standing on the other side of it.

Dressed in a cream-colored nightdress, with her golden-brown hair hanging down loose around her shoulders, the former queen looked even more of a girl than she had before. Elisif smiled tentatively at Gallica's surprise.

"I thought I would come personally and see how you were settling in."

Gallica hurried to wipe the surprise from her features quickly and stammered a reply.

"Oh.  Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, that was very considerate of you." But there was a waiting expression on Elisif's face, as if she were trying to say something else, but did not want to intrude. Gallica stepped back from the door, holding it open. "Would you like to come in?"

"For a moment. I know you must be as exhausted as I am, so I won't stay long," the younger woman assured her and stepped into the room.

Gallica closed the door behind them and watched carefully for a moment as her erstwhile rival for the throne studied her surroundings and walked over to run a hand over the post of the bed and across the window sill.

"This was my room when I first came to the Blue Palace. I remember very well what it's like to sit in here on your first night and wonder what in Nirn you're going to do when tomorrow comes."

The eerie echo of her own thoughts made Gallica's heart hurt for a moment.  Elisif's expression was serene, but there was certainly pain underneath it.  No one could lose so much - a husband, a home, and now a throne - without feeling it. Earnestly aggrieved on behalf of her counterpart, Gallica stepped forward.

"Elisif, I am so sorry about all of this-" she began, but the former queen held up her hand, cutting her off with a congenial chuckle.

"There's no need to be. I was slightly upset at first - it's not easy to live down being snubbed by all those old toffs in such a public way - but after some reflection, I think you've done me a favor. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't looking forward to being High Queen and now I'm saved the trouble."

"You're very understanding," Gallica replied with a weak smile, uncertain whether she believed the off-handed reply. Elisif laughed, a more easy and convincing gesture this time and Gallica relaxed a little.

"Well, you have to be in this place or you'll wind up madder than old Pelagius. Take it from me." The younger woman sighed before continuing, turning her smile back to Gallica. "Anyway, I wanted to assure you as soon as possible that I don't take any of this personally - and I thought that you might want some company. It gets lonely in the Palace, especially at night. I used to think what I wouldn't give for a little peace and quiet and then - well, after Torygg passed on to Sovngarde, anyway - you never realize how quiet things can be until you're finally alone."

This confession, combined with the sudden cloudy, dampening of the girl's expression, told Gallica all she needed to know about Elisif's motives for coming. Compassionately, Gallica moved over to the sitting area and indicated a chair.

"Would you like to sit for awhile? I'm too tense from all the excitement to sleep just yet and I could do with some company, now that you mention it."

Gratefully, Elisif took the offered chair across from Gallica, arranging herself with effortless grace. Gallica had never had a sister, nor had she spent much time with other girls when she was young, and so she was inexperienced at this sort of informal, feminine chat. Still, she had been meaning to talk to Elisif anyway and this was the first and best opportunity to do so alone.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do now?" Gallica asked after a customary moment of silence while the women warmed in the glow of the nearby fire. "You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you like, but I wondered if you had any plans."

"Oh, I suspect that my family will try to bundle me back off home," Elisif replied, smiling at some private joke at the thought. "They've always hovered around me as if I were a piece of delicate glassware and now that I'm a displaced widow, I suppose that they will want to drag me back home until other arrangements can be made."

"And you have other ideas, I take it?"

"I've been batted around between parents, husband, tutors, and courtiers ever since I can remember," the former queen said more than a little resentfully. "And now my husband is dead and I'm queen no longer. It's the first chance I've ever had to order my own life and I intend to take it. I'm not yet sure what I will do, but I'm entertaining options."

"I wonder if you would consider staying here, then," Gallica responded, finding that the best moment to broach the subject had arrived. Elisif cocked her head, a confused expression on her face as Gallica continued. "I'm coming into this with blinders on. I have Nord blood, I'm still essentially a foreigner here and I'm going to need help on the particulars of court business. I intend to keep Falk on as steward if he wants the job, but it's more than that. The rebuilding is going to be a difficult process and I don't intend to oversee everything from afar. If I'm going to do this, I'm not going to be the type of Queen that doesn't get her own hands dirty. And I have a feeling that this current peace is not going to be a long one, so I will likely find myself at the head of another army before this next year is out. I can't be everywhere at once, and so I want to appoint a chancellor to act as regent in the city when I'm elsewhere."

"But you will marry eventually, won't you?" Elisif asked in astonishment, her blue eyes widening. "Those responsibilities would fall to your husband, as they did to me the few times when Torygg was traveling."

"Yes, I suppose they will for the most part. But," and Gallica hesitated here, unwilling to reveal all of her plans yet though she was in a confidential mood, "it is possible that the man I marry will have similar responsibilities and I don't want to leave the matter to chance or let it fall upon my steward's shoulders entirely. There's going to be work enough for ten Falks as it is."

She sighed. "You have the best claim to the crown besides me and would be on hand to take over if something should happen. I have no living family now. If you were to stay on as my chancellor, you could help me with the court and act as my ambassador when I cannot be somewhere myself, and you could keep things running in my stead if necessary. You would have your own salary and standing in the world, just as Falk does. I could even deed you Proudspire, if you want a place of your own.  I don't require an answer now, but I wanted you to know what I intended and that you're welcome to the position if you want it."

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the fire crackling and settling in the hearth. Elisif studied Gallica, her expression shrewd, before she spoke.

"I'll consider it. I was starting to be charmed by the idea of leaving this place, but it's generous of you to offer and I'm happy to help however I can. Let me think on it."

"Of course," Gallica replied courteously, and let the matter drop.

In truth, the inspiration to create such a position was motivated partly by concern for Elisif - where did a deposed former queen go if not back to her family? - and partly by the realization that her tenure as High Queen was going to be woefully complicated and Gallica knew there were many ways in which she was underprepared.

" _Have_  you thought about marriage yet?" Elisif asked, more conversational girl again than serious woman. "You can bet that they're going to start pressing you about it soon. I know that was next on Falk's agenda for me if you hadn't come along.  Which, again, I should thank you again for sparing me from, by the way."

"I did have some thoughts on the subject, yes." Gallica shifted uncomfortably, a nervous movement that Elisif clearly noticed.

The engagement was still, technically, a secret and she was not sure how open she should be about it now. Better to discuss how their plans were going to change with Tullius before anyone else.

"There's someone you have in mind, I can tell," Elisif observed with a canny smile that turned into a conspiratorial grin. "Don't tell me. I want to be surprised with everyone else. But, if you'll take my advice, you'll pick one for yourself and marry him before the rest get ideas. There's nothing that excites the male nobility around here like an unmarried High Queen. I should know."

Gallica laughed then, remembering the way that Thane Erikur and some of the other men at court had been simpering around her.

"I can see that. I'll do my best."

"I should go. You're going to need your sleep for tomorrow, and here I am chatting your ears off like a kitchen maid," Elisif said, rising.

Gallica rose as well and walked her to the door, holding it open as the younger woman exited the room. Elisif tossed her head back, smiling, before she pattered down the hall to her own chambers.

"Thank you, for letting me stop a moment. If you need to talk - I know how all of this can get a bit much at times - you can talk to me. And I  _will_  think about the other matter. Good night."

Gallica watched the slim form, ghost-like in her house robe, flit down the hall and disappear before closing her door again. The fire had burned low during the conversation, and she added another split of firewood onto it for the night before undressing and settling into the soft bed. The conversation with Elisif had cheered her or at least eased her mind enough that she felt she could sleep.

In the distance, the hum and murmur of late revelers continued into the night, and Gallica settled into the thick covers, wrapping her arms around a pillow and letting weariness overtake her. Soon, with luck, she and Tullius would be married and she would not have to end her laborious days with a silent chamber and an empty bed anymore. If there was anything about the resolution of the Moot that she could be glad of, it was that there was now no impediment to announcing the engagement at once. It was to that thought that she drifted off to sleep, and her dreams decided to oblige her need for rest and remained peaceful until dawn.

~~0~~

The first day of the reign of High Queen Gallica of Skyrim began early. There was an enormous amount of information that she needed to be caught up on quickly, and so she spent the first part of the morning closeted with her privy council. Though Gallica had severe reservations about some of her courtiers - Thane Erikur and the Court Wizard Sybille being the most dubious - she made it clear that everyone could remain in their current positions for the moment if they wished to. The inclusion of Elisif in the council raised a few eyebrows, but it was expected that the departing queen would have to stay to inform the rising Queen for some time.

Once the business of the hold was outlined - the concerns about the shipping passages, matters of security for the outlying villages, the current status of the treasury, and so on - Gallica moved from local business with the privy council to the council of Jarls who were waiting with acute interest to see what political tactic their newly appointed ruler would pursue.

"You have set me here in good faith," she told them, making eye contact with each Jarl in turn. "I will do my best not to disappoint you in that. For, as much as you all serve me as esteemed councilors, I in turn serve you and every citizen of Skyrim and I do not intend to rest on my laurels. Once the immediate business of the court is settled, I plan to visit each of you in your holds to see for myself the challenges you face in rebuilding from the recent troubles. I will do whatever is in my power to help you see order and stability restored."

Even Igmund of Markarth seemed to warm to the situation and the first great council was concluded with less bickering than Gallica could have hoped. 

 _Maybe this won't be so bad after all_ , she thought as they broke in the late afternoon.  She made her way back to her study to continue working on the speech she would have to give to the public very soon and had just reached the door when she glanced back down the hall to see Balgruuf approaching.

"Coming to deliver your critique of my performance already?" she teased and saw his heavily lined face crease in a half smile.

"You did well, Dragonborn. But then you always seem to," the Jarl of Whiterun replied. He sounded tired and she let him into the study behind her, assuming that there was something on his mind that he wanted to talk to her about in private.

"It's easy to sound sincere when you're being honest," she replied with a shrug.

The late afternoon sunlight slanted across the stone floor of the study, casting half of the room in shadow. Tomes of history, political and military theory, and philosophy lined the shelves along the walls, and a stack of parchments and books were mounded on the desk. Catch-up work, Gallica reflected with an internal wince. All the various treaties, laws, and sensitive state secrets that a new High Queen needed to be made aware of. How she would ever get through it all and have time to actually conduct the business of state, she had no idea.

"Is there something particular I can help you with, Jarl Balgruuf, or is this a social call? Not that either would be unwelcome."

Balgruuf laughed at that.

"You're becoming more political by the hour, Dragonborn. I knew you had it in you. I wanted to see how you were getting along - if there was something  _I_  could do to help  _you._  But, there was something particular I wanted to discuss with you, as well. Some advice, if you will, from a friend."

Gallica offered one of the chairs to Balgruuf and then pulled her own from behind the desk. She disliked having a barrier between her and other people and Balgruuf  _was_ an old friend. She was stuffed to the gills with advice, but it wouldn't hurt to humor the older man, as much as he had done to aid her in the fight against Alduin.

"You're not a native of Skyrim," he began once they had settled down across from each other, choosing his words carefully. "Not that there is anyone who would dispute that you belong here. You are as much a Nord as any of us."

"I am still getting used to the culture," Gallica acknowledged, "but I have good advisors around me who can help correct any missteps."

"You're doing a fine job in that already," Balgruuf replied and then shook his head, his expression going thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "There are few in Skyrim who are not pleased to have the Dragonborn as their High Queen. But, you must also understand, the Nords of Skyrim are proud and we have much to be proud of. We have always counted ourselves as the supporting pillar of the Empire - the equal of Cyrodiil, not one of its vassal states like Morrowind or High Rock."

"You're worried that people will come to see me as an Imperial puppet," Gallica guessed, catching the hint from Balgruuf's tone. He nodded, gravely.

"You, being part of a noble Imperial family and with your service to the Legion, have a better chance than most to smooth over our troubles with the Empire, but the smallfolk of Skyrim have to see you as one of them if they are to follow you. They have to know that you are, as Ulfric put it, a "true Nord" and that you share their concerns. You will have to walk a very fine line if you are to succeed, Dragonborn."

Gallica studied her old friend, noting the concentrative expression in his eyes. He was saying nothing that hadn't already occurred to her, but Balgruuf was obviously building towards something specific. Whatever it was, he seemed to think it needed additional tact to propose.  _This ought to be interesting_ , she thought, smiling.

"What would you suggest, Jarl Balgruuf?"

Balgruuf's expression twisted shrewdly and he seemed to be looking for the right words.

"You are unmarried, Dragonborn," he admitted, finally, and Gallica had to work hard to keep her jaw from dropping open at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. "You will need to marry eventually in order to secure your line, and if you were to choose a husband with a strong background in Skyrim and Nord culture, it would go a long way to establishing your credibility and soothing any concerns the people have about you."

 _You sly old dog_ , Gallica thought, forcing herself to keep from laughing. She had always known that the Jarl of Whiterun was a widower twice over, but he had never seemed to demonstrate an interest in her beyond her status as the Dragonborn and one of his more trusted Thanes. Truth be told, she had long suspected that his romantic attentions were directed to quite a different place, though it was unlikely that he and Irileth would ever be able to marry due to the racial and class barriers between them. Could Balgruuf actually be proposing to her? It seemed too ridiculous to be true. Gallica allowed herself a slight smile as she cocked her head.

"Am I to understand that you are putting yourself forward for the post?"

"No," Balgruuf replied quickly, sitting up straighter, just as surprised as she had been. "Not at all. Not that - Whiterun is the only highseat I have an interest in, and I wouldn't think to test the gods by marrying again. My brother, however, is closer to your own age and unmarried. A more traditional Nord warrior you could not find, and loyal to the Empire besides."

 _Ahh, the other shoe drops_ , Gallica thought, feeling her amusement lessen. She had nothing against Hrongar, Balgruuf's sullen younger brother - he was a respectable warrior, clearly itching to get out from under his brother's thumb - but the thought of being married to him was unsettling. No, even if she was not already engaged to Tullius, it would be out of the question. Even more so than his elder brother, Hrongar did not have the talent of holding his tongue or his temper when the situation called for it.

"And what does Hrongar think of this?"

"Hrongar has a great deal of respect for you," Balgruuf observed, smiling. "Good marriages have come from much less."

 _Meaning this is your idea, not his_ , she surmised.. From anyone else, Gallica would have assumed this was just another play for favor. It might still be, but she didn't want to think that of Balgruuf. He was proud, he had to be keen enough to do what was in his hold's best interest, but she had never seen him as a political schemer like Maven. He already had her ear more than most of the other Jarls. No, she would rather believe that he meant to help both her and his brother at once and leave it at that.

"While I would consider joining your family an honor, I can't entertain the idea at this time," she responded, choosing her words to be politely vague.

Balgruuf frowned a little.  "This is all very sudden for you, I understand. Consider it for the future."

"I will, but please don't take it as offense if I cannot accept. Nothing is really certain at the moment. I hardly know enough to plan for more than a day or two at the time right now."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, some discussion of the coronation plans and the arrival of the Emperor, and then Balgruuf excused himself and left her alone in the study, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.

 _The sooner we get this engagement announced, the better_ , Gallica told herself, but she felt a small and worrying doubt. Something about the look on Tullius' face when he had left the palace yesterday had stuck with her, tickling in the back of her mind.  It made her anxious to see him again - to assure herself that everything was well, among many other reasons. It was probably just a case of nerves. The last few days had been rough on both of them, and it was not about to get any easier.

Who could blame Tullius for being ill at ease about her sudden rise to power?

~~0~~

The week of celebrations in Solitude was just getting started and the streets were festooned with lights and revelers even more garishly than the previous night. As Gallica leaned on the window sill, taking in the refreshing night air and listening to the sounds of it all - life beyond the garden walls - she felt a little wistful.

There was scarcely a man or woman down in the streets who wouldn't jump at the chance to be in her shoes, but here she was wishing she was in theirs so that she could enjoy the celebration instead of being the subject of it. Such was the heavy burden of power, she supposed.  Once everything had settled down, Gallica fully intended to go out into the city again herself whether her council and the royal guards liked it or not. There was a saying among the lower classes in Cyrodiil that it was too high to talk to the Divines and too far to talk to the Emperor, and Gallica would not be that kind of queen.

The Bardic College down the way was putting on one of the more lavish parties tonight, and Gallica was enjoying the music drifting in on the sea breeze and the eloquence of some very creative toasts and poetry in her honor. Half of them described things she hadn't even done and the other half had embellished events to the point that Gallica might as well have been the incarnation of Akatosh herself, descending from on high. It was great fun all around and she had to laugh at it, but it made her uneasy as well.

What would people think of her in a hundred years, if the songs were already diverging from the reality? She pondered this until a familiar bar of harp music reached her ears and she stopped breathing for a moment in order to catch the opening words of the song.

" _Sing now and remember. In our hearts we mourn,"_ a smooth female voice began, rising above the chords of the harp in a sad, lilting tune,  
" _this tale of lost love and honour forsworn,_  
_That throughout the ages the story be borne_  
_Of Ulfric the Bear and his love Dragonborn_."

When she had returned to Solitude after the dark and confusing weeks she had spent among the Dawnguard, Gallica had told Tullius that there were some matters she needed to attend to before taking up her duties again, though she hadn't told him what exactly she meant by this. Tullius would have prevented it, if he had known, and she had made a promise that she could not break. This song was part of that promise.

" _Twas winter in Skyrim. Dark wings beat the sky_  
_As the World-Eater's brethren 'cross our lands did fly,_  
_And Ulfric the Bear had killed our King most High,_  
_And many a brother by brother's hands died."_

The words were as familiar as her own voice, and rightly so because Gallica had commissioned them herself and provided the source material. The bard had been paid handsomely to write the song and disseminate it widely to other bards across Skyrim, all the while keeping her patron's identity a complete secret. Gallica had heard people humming the ballad in the streets in the days before the Moot. It was a catchy tune, already as popular as some of the old favorites like "Ragnar the Red" and "The Dragonborn Comes". The bard had done well. Gallica's promise to Ulfric at the moment of his death, to keep his name alive alongside hers in song, was now fulfilled as best she could manage.

" _She came from the south - a legionnaire sworn._  
_She smote all the dragons and Alduin scorned._  
_Though Ulfric would have seen her in his mantle adorned,_  
_No side would she take, our fair Dragonborn."_

The audience over at the Bard's College had hushed to a respectful silence, and Gallica closed her eyes, taking it in and remembering. The jostling of Tullius and Ulfric for her help in the war. The temporary truce she had pulled out of them both at High Hrothgar. It seemed like an eternity ago, but she could see Ulfric's face in her mind, wreathed in starlight as he tried to kiss her in the courtyard of the monastery, as if it had happened yesterday.

" _Alone she sat vigil on that last silent night_  
_Before she would follow and Alduin smite._  
_Her breath sighed and tears cried, despite all her might._  
_For love left unspoken, her soul did ignite._

 _Dark was the forest and cold the night air._  
_She rode through the valley, the wind in her hair,_  
_And, camped by the road, she at last found him there._  
_Her heart she laid open to Ulfric the Bear."_

Though it was well-known by now that Gallica had once considered taking Ulfric's side, no one knew the truth of what had happened between them except for Gallica herself now. Most would assume that this was all just a fanciful creation of the song-writer. But it  _was_ true and the memory of it - of that cold ride through darkness and finding Ulfric in his tent on the night before she captured the dragon Odhaviing in Dragonsreach and forced him to take her to the gates of Sovngarde - made her heart ache.

She had not expected to survive the battle with Alduin. That was why she had gone to find Ulfric on his way home from the peace conference at High Hrothgar, because she wanted, on her last night in the world, to know that she was not alone and that there was someone in the world who cared for her. Whatever disaster the relationship had become later, that night stuck in her memory as being perhaps the only entirely pure moment that had ever existed between her and Ulfric - the single point in time when Ulfric had truly loved her only for her own sake.  She would never forget it.

 _"Forth went our Dragonborn, against dark Alduin waged._  
_From the heights of high Sovngarde did their battle rage,_  
_And victory she found there, our doom she assuaged._  
_Glory be to our savior Dragonborn of this Age!"_

But she had survived. She had returned to the world, a hero that had outlived her legend, and so had to face the consequences. Ulfric had expected to wield her as a weapon against the Empire and a tool to keep the people loyal. He had built up a grand vision of her as a complement to his own quest for power, and, in the end, his love for her was not stronger than his hatred of the Empire and his pride.

A knock sounded at the door and Gallica turned her head, calling a " _come in"_  but not leaving the window. It was the first time that she had heard the ballad properly performed in public and she wanted to listen to the end. The door opened to reveal Tullius, in civilian garb tonight though there hardly seemed to be a difference for him. No one could mistake the General for anything other than what he was.

He looked exhausted, the lines on his face more evident than ever, and Gallica smiled at him sympathetically and reached a hand towards him beckoning silently. As he approached, Gallica touched a finger to her lips briefly to let him know she was listening to the music and then half-embraced him, her arm sliding around his waist as he moved to her side. There was a certain tension in Tullius' body as she touched him, but there would be time to inquire about that later. For the moment, he paused with her, silently listening.

" _With the dragons defeated and no more foes to hound,_  
_Returned she to Ulfric, to the love she had found,_  
_But peace could not find there in his fight for the Crown_  
_For oaths she had sworn and to Empire was bound._

 _No truce would see Ulfric, nor for Dragonborn sway,_  
_And so to the Legion she made her sorrowful way_  
_To take up their banner and enter the fray._  
_For future and country, her lover betrayed."_

"Ridiculous propaganda," Tullius snorted, scowling and moving to pull her gently away. Gallica held back.

"I want to hear the end," she replied mildly.

Tullius' expression twisted a little with displeasure, but he waited without comment. Gallica squeezed his hand in recognition of his tolerance, though she felt a deep pang in her heart at the accusation in the musical phrase. The bard had wanted to change the wording, but Gallica had insisted that the word "betrayed" remain. She  _had_ betrayed Ulfric. No matter how justified it was, he had trusted her and she had betrayed that trust.  She considered it the final penance to commemorate the truth of it in song. Whatever Ulfric's sins were, the Dragonborn was not spotless either.

" _The battles raged onward. Overhead rode the crows._  
_And down Ulfric's gates came at Dragonborn's blow._  
_One last time, as the first time, she embraced him in woe,_  
_Two hearts together sundered as her blade laid him low._ "

Sundered was right. She had never intended to kill Ulfric. She had been trying to find a way to save him, to have him captured alive and spirited away from Windhelm during the aftermath of the battle so that, with everything else in ruins, he would at least have his life. But, in the end, when he lay broken and defeated on the floor of his own hall, she had realized at last that she could never have saved him. He would not have allowed her to and, even if she could have, that life would have been a torment for him. So, she had done the only merciful thing left that she could have done for him. She had spared him an ignoble death, so that he could continue to live in his own legend - Jarl Ulfric, who had nearly wrested Skyrim from the Empire and whom only the legendary Dragonborn could defeat.

 _The last gift I could give you_ ,  _Ulfric,_  she remembered as the image of his limp body clasped in her arms, his blood on her hands, came to mind,  _and one that came at a heavy price._

Gallica felt Tullius bristling next to her, no doubt remembering the scene himself. He knew well enough that she had once been in love with Ulfric.  He knew what that last act of mercy had cost her.  Although he had never reproached her for her feelings or given a hint of jealousy except right before that last battle, it could not be easy for him to think of her in his former enemy's arms. He trusted her, but even if in his darker moments Tullius might wonder about her feelings for Ulfric, he was a practical man. Ulfric was dead and there was an end of it.  In the final battle, Tullius had been the victor on both fronts.

Since she had agreed to marry Tullius, they had agreed to leave Ulfric in the past and Gallica would never tell him that she had commissioned this song. What would that serve? Let this fulfill her promise to Ulfric in Sovngarde, a last monument to the fact that they had loved each other once, while she herself remained faithful to the man standing next to her now. In the end, Tullius undeniably deserved her love far more than Ulfric ever had.

_"The snow now sits silent on Windhelm's worn walls_  
_And in the Palace of the Kings blows through empty halls._  
_But a presence there lingers and sighs through its pall:_  
_'Though death may have parted, my soul she enthralls.'"_

An eerie last touch. Though she had no doubt that Ulfric's soul had gone to Sovngarde, she did wonder how true his last words - "I'll wait for you" - were. Did he look down on her still with love, waiting for the day she would rejoin him? Gallica had no idea, but the thought was both unsettling and comforting at the same time. As the final refrain and the last strains of the harp died away, Gallica turned to Tullius, who wore a stony expression.

"I see that I'll have to send someone to speak to the head of the Bardic College about the performance of treasonous material," he commented stiffly. "Again."

Gallica tried to smile and pass it off lightly, although she could feel that something was deeply uneasy between them.

"Oh, let them have their song. It hardly paints Ulfric in a good light, and what harm can it do now?"

"Whenever anyone asks that question, I think the Divines take it as a challenge," Tullius growled in response, but wearily rather than angrily.

The song had annoyed him, obviously, but there something else on his mind. Gallica could see him working to compose himself, to hide whatever it was that was bothering him.

"I've missed you," she said, simply, laying her hand gently on his chest, a gesture of comfort and familiarity.

There was a brief flicker in his expression - a cringe? - but he managed a weak smile and placed his own hand over hers briefly before turning to move towards the sitting area next to the hearth.

"I would much rather have been here with you, I assure you, but it was unavoidable. We have a band of Stormcloak hold outs that are causing some trouble down in the Reach and the Penitus Oculatus is moving into high gear to ensure the Emperor's safety during his visit. And, of course, the proper missives about the outcome of the Moot needed to be sent out to the Imperial City and the Legion garrisons in Skyrim.  It's been a busy day," he replied.

Gallica followed him, offering him a cup of wine as he lowered himself down into one of the chairs with a grunt. Tullius shook his head and Gallica replaced the bottle on the low table, settling down next to him.

Was it her imagination or was Tullius avoiding her gaze?

 _What is going on_? she wondered, feeling the pressure of anxiety creeping up into her chest again.

"I understand. Today has been one meeting after another for me as well. Everyone needs something and they have to tell me about it right away. At this rate, I'll have my coronation speech finished about five years into my reign."

"Well, that's civilian government for you," Tullius replied with a huff, almost breaking into humor. "They don't understand the chain of command and you can't yell at them and send them back down the line like you can with soldiers; they get their feelings hurt."

"Falk will take care of most of it eventually, I suppose. For now, I'm just taking it as it comes, getting used to the idea," Gallica responded agreeably.

She had been looking forward to seeing Tullius all day, and it was strange to find him so distant and tense tonight.  And stranger to find herself so uneasy in his presence when it was usually such a relief.

 _It's been a long day for both of us_ , she reminded herself. Then she remembered a piece a news that she thought he might find amusing and smiled.

"Oh, this should give you something to laugh about. Balgruuf proposed to me on behalf of his brother today. Can you believe that?"

But the statement had the opposite effect. Tullius' expression tightened a little more and his brooding gaze did not budge from the fire in the hearth.

"It's hardly surprising," he responded after a moment. "Balgruuf is more ambitious than he pretends to be. The Jarls are all jockeying for position in your court and what are younger brothers for if not for brokering advantageous marriages? Balgruuf might have been the first to suggest it, but I expect he won't be the last with an eligible relative."

If Tullius was unwilling to take a catty shot at Balgruuf, something really was wrong, Gallica thought, and she suddenly began to get a terrible premonition of what was on Tullius' mind. She forced herself to keep smiling, though she could feel her heart begin to pump faster in her chest.

"I suppose we should make the announcement about us, then. To save all those broken hearts," she observed, carefully. "Now that all of the impediments are out of the way."

She could hear the upturn of a question in her own statement, the request for reassurance that all was well. She waited as a silent moment stretched on for too long.  Tullius glanced up at her, but there was no reassurance to be found in his face. His gaze returned to the fire as his hands tensed and formed fists on the armrests, while he seemed to carefully consider his response

"I'm not sure that would be wise, Gallica."

"Oh?" she responded, faintly, forcing the smile to remain despite the fact that she could feel the blood beginning to surge through her temples, the drum beat of her heart hastening in her veins. With anemic humor, she asked, "Getting cold feet? Isn't that supposed to be the bride's prerogative?"

"No, nothing like that," he assured her quickly and then drew in a deep slow breath. He seemed to decide something, as he spoke again. "Things are more complicated now than they were before. You have a country to rule. And, to be perfectly frank, Gallica, I would be a liability to you in that. You may want to consider other options."

 _No,_ Gallica thought, her mouth going dry as she felt her stomach lurch from surprise. _No, no, n_ _ot this again._

"I don't see how you could possibly be a liability," she began, her voice shaking a little, though she made an effort to remain calm. "There have been Imperial consorts in Skyrim before now. You've been basically running the province for the last two years. You're more qualified for the job than I am."

The General shook his head.

"You have to look at this as a political leader now, not as a free agent.  Think about how it would look to the people. You have the Nord look to you and, yes, you're the Dragonborn, but you were born and raised in Cyrodiil. Everything about you, from the way you speak to the way you wear your hair and clothes labels you an Imperial noblewoman. For all intents and purposes, you are Imperial. And we've done too good a job painting you as a loyal legionnaire on top of that. You need all the credibility with the local people and the skeptical nobility that you can get.  Marrying an Imperial general is only going to make you seem more foreign and removed from the common Nords of Skyrim. Besides, I'm almost universally resented among the natives in power here. The Jarls - with the exception of Brina Merilis, perhaps - would never stand for it."

"I don't think it's as bad as all that," Gallica protested, but Tullius sighed in exasperation.

"We just finished putting down a particularly bloody rebellion here. This province is still unstable and there are a lot of bad feelings towards the Empire left out there. If I married you and became your consort in ruling the country, can you think of anyone who wouldn't immediately be convinced that I was using you to continue running things from behind the throne? We can't afford for you to be seen as a weak Queen and these bull-headed Nords won't settle for anyone but a Nord on the throne right now. There might very well be another revolt, and that would be playing into the Thalmor's hands. This is about more than just our personal feelings now. You have to do what's best for Skyrim and the Empire. And as the Emperor's representative here, so do I."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Gallica murmured and stood, folding her arms tightly across her chest as she paced.

 _Is this some sort of punishment?_  she asked in her mind, not sure which Divine she was speaking to.  _Is this my comeuppance for killing Ulfric? Everything has a price?_

She turned back to Tullius, trying to find something to say, but words failed her. Tullius continued to stare into the fire, completely still, calm, his face blank. She wanted to scream at him for that, for sitting there and calmly destroying what little bit of happiness she had been able to take hold of since the battle in Windhelm as if it meant so little, until she looked more closely at his face.

Gallica had developed the talent of obscuring her own emotions over the years when she had to. It was a necessity for a military officer. The soldiers under you had to believe completely that you were in charge and that you were in control of the situation. You could never show them fear or weakness or uncertainty, whatever you felt on the inside. And Tullius was a master of the art. Tonight, though, the General's mask had cracked just enough that she could see what was behind it and it filled her with anguish.

"What you're suggesting - you don't want it anymore than I do," she exclaimed. He looked up into her eyes then and she could see the truth of it in his pained expression.

"You're right. However, that's hardly the point," admitted Tullius, rising slowly to his feet. The dispassionate tone was gone now. This was hurting him as much as it hurt her, but he was trying to do what he thought was the right thing. "Gallica, it's not just that it would be a bad political match for you now, though that's reason enough. It would have been easier to shift you around before so that there were no conflicts of interest. That's routine in the Legion. Now, you're a head of state in the country that I'm assigned to as military governor and Legion commander. If we married, my loyalty to the Legion would always be suspect and the Elder Council would not tolerate that. The conflict of interest that might have existed is now magnified a hundredfold. Even if another general could be dispatched or if I could promote Rikke to take over my command, I would need the Emperor's permission and I don't believe he's likely to grant it under the circumstances."

"Then why did you talk me into accepting the Moot's nomination?" Gallica cried, feeling her features twist as frustration overwhelmed her at last.

"I gave you the room to make your own decision," he replied, firmly. "I stand by my decision to do so. You are the best chance this province has to normalize and reintegrate. We're soldiers. We've always known that individuals and their happiness sometimes have to be sacrificed for the good of many. The stability of the Empire, as much as it pains me to say it and as much as I wish I could change it, is one of those things worth preserving at our personal expense."

Gallica buried her face in her hands. This couldn't possibly be happening. She could feel the intense, all-consuming heartache of killing Ulfric, of coming to terms with her only brother's death and that of her mother's from grief over him, of receiving the news of her father's death all those years ago, of losing Tullius now so needlessly after they had been through so much, coming back to her like a dark cloud. She felt Tullius' hands on to her cheeks suddenly, twining into her hair, and heard the wrenching regret in his voice as he spoke to her.

"I'm sorry, Gallica. Divines know how much I care for you."

She threw her arms around him, pressing her face hard into his shoulder. A few tears had slipped out of the corners of her eyes and were sliding down her cheeks, but she didn't care.

"Don't do this," she told him. "You know what I've lost already. You know what I've been through to come back. I won't lose you as well."

He returned the embrace, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and back as he leaned his temple against hers.

"I've been trying to think of any way to make this work since the Moot's decision," he responded, stroking her hair. "I've come up with nothing, Gallica. Short of some illicit arrangement, but those have a tendency of coming out at the worst possible moment.   I would be unworthy of you if I made you a mistress rather than a wife and put your reputation at risk."

After a few ragged, hopeless breaths, Gallica felt something hot and determined begin to rise up within her.  Not again.  Empires and High Queen and Dragonborns be damned.  She would never sacrifice someone she loved to the all-devouring necessities of politics again.

"I don't care what the Jarls think," she replied, standing back a little and wiping the damp corners of her eyes as she gathered herself. Her voice hardened with resolve and she shook her head, frowning. "I don't care what anyone in Skyrim thinks. If they want me for their High Queen, they'll have to learn to live with you as my husband. I would rather abdicate than go through all of this without you. I'm  _tired_  of being pushed around like everyone's pawn instead of being the dragon I was meant to be."

"Gallica," he began, reproachfully, but she interrupted him.  She felt her expression curl into an aggrieved scowl.

"I have lived my entire life for other people.  I served the Empire and my family. I saved the world from Alduin. I helped you win the civil war and I killed Ulfric with my own hands. Even in the worst days afterward, when all I wanted to do was die, I fought for the Dawnguard and destroyed the vampires.  I never wanted to rule anything, but I'll do it anyway because Skyrim needs me. Every hour of my life has been spent on duty to something or someone and that duty has taken everyone that I have ever loved from me. Except you.  This far and no further.  The world can bend to  _my_ will this once."

Tullius stared at her for a moment, surprised by the vehement outburst.

"The Emperor will still have the final say in the matter," he remarked doubtfully.

"I'll ask him myself," Gallica replied stoically, sounding braver to her own ears than she felt at the idea of facing down the Emperor for the first time and demanding a boon. She squared her shoulders, formidably, mentally preparing for it. "He'll be here in a week roughly. The way I see it, we're heroes. We deserve to be granted favor after winning a victory for the Empire and, who knows, the Emperor may prefer to keep me off of the throne anyway.  Our marriage would give him a reason to accomplish that without losing face."

"I still think this is dangerous," Tullius protested, although his mind was working now, too.  Gallica could see him considering.  The tactician in him was rising back to the surface.  He shook his head.  "I don't think you should abdicate. You are needed here, whether you like it or not. I doubt, too, that the Emperor will be as tractable on the subject as you think."

In the end, however, he reached out to caress her cheek and Gallica saw the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, wistful and pained though it was.

"I have always told you that you were too important to give up without a fight."

"Put your gold where your mouth is," she shot back at him, but with wild relief in her heart.  She was smiling.  And after exhaling deeply, Tullius grunted his assent.  He took her hand in his and covered it, nodding.

"Alright.  We'll try it your way. If the Emperor approves of the plan, you can announce the marriage to the rabble afterwards and we'll see how things go," he relented. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a wry smile. "Never let it be said that I don't love you. If I end up as king consort of this gods-forsaken country, Rikke will never let me hear the end of it."

Gallica laughed in relief and kissed him.  They settled back down before the fire, more tired than before. There was business that needed to be discussed.  Gallica wanted to apprise Tullius of a few things that she had heard in the council, but it could wait. With their nerves jangled from the argument, what they needed was rest and the mutual assurance that they were united against a common front. Some of the Jarls might protest the match, but Gallica was already forming a plant to convince them. The Emperor would be the real hurdle and he was such a monolithic - almost deific - figure in her mind, who could say what he thought about anything?

 _We'll know in a week_ , she thought, trying to put it out of her mind so that she could take solace in the few moments that she and Tullius could steal together before he would have to leave. Titus Mede II was, by all accounts, an extraordinarily cunning man - as shrewd in politics as he was in war. When everything was fully explained, Gallica was certain that he would not prevent the marriage.

If he did?

 _We'll cross that bridge when it comes_ , Gallica told herself firmly and leaned her head on Tullius' shoulder, closing her eyes.  _Right now, just let me be a woman in love spending an evening with my betrothed._


	5. An Audience with the Emperor

 

 

 

"Well, you'll definitely need something better to wear than that," Elisif observed upon entering Gallica's study and striking a thoughtful pose, as if she were assessing the Dragonborn Queen as a statue or another piece of art.

The younger woman couldn't help smiling, though, and ruining the effect of her feigned seriousness. The former queen had agreed that morning to become Gallica's chancellor and it was plain that she was already enjoying the prospect of being a royal councillor without the bother of being royalty herself.

"Yes," she mused, "I think a visit from the ladies at the Radiant Raiment is in order."

"What?" Gallica replied, confused as she looked up from the reports she was muddling through. Her mind had been a jumble of letters of congratulations from various dignitaries, requests from the populace, and summaries of all of her various new holdings all morning, and she had no idea what Elisif was talking about. She looked down at her surcoat, breeches, and thick boots and back up at Elisif, mystified.

"For the Vici wedding, of course. Your first public function, if I might remind you, so you will need to make a suitable impression."

"Oh, that," Gallica sighed, sitting back in her chair wearily. "I had almost forgotten."

Vittoria Vici was one of the many reasons for the Emperor's visit. She was his cousin, perhaps his nearest relation after his sons, and the woman's imperious heritage showed. She ran the East Empire Company offices in Skyrim with as much steely aplomb as her cousin ran the Empire and the fact that the Emperor had sailed all the way from the Imperial City to be present at her wedding was no small tribute to the power she held, though she seldom wielded it openly.

Vittoria put on a public face of scorning her royal heritage and purported herself as a self-made businesswoman, but Gallica knew better. The marriage was evidence enough that she was more in step with her cousin's politics than she made herself appear. The groom was Asgeir Snow-Shod, a wealthy and well-connected Nord from Riften whose family had been major supporters of the Stormcloaks during the war and who continued to be influential among the subdued Ulfric supporters now. Gallica had no idea if the marriage was for love as well as politics, but it was clearly an advantageous arrangement for all parties concerned and it was already being looked on as a good first step in healing the breach between the fractured political factions of Skyrim.

"Also, a wedding present will have to be arranged," Elisif continued. "Something grand, suitable for a marriage of state. Perhaps a title or land? The groom's family is wealthy, but not noble."

"That's a good point," Gallica replied, eyebrows lifting a little in surprise at the perspicacity of the suggestion. Elisif was naive about many things, but Gallica was learning that she did have an excellent grasp of social protocol. "I'll put you in charge of that. Find out if we have a vacancy he could fill. I assume he'll be relocating to Solitude. I doubt Vittoria will want to run her business from afar. As for the clothes, something simple, I beg you. I can't even remember the last time I wore a dress."

The new chancellor smiled. "I was thinking something tasteful and pragmatic. Martial. The Warrior Queen of Skyrim has an image to maintain. And we can't have you upstaging the bride."

Gallica grunted her assent, but she returned the smile. It was inevitable that the combination of her sex and former profession would become the traits that defined her beyond her Dragonblood. Though not unprecedented, it was something of a novelty among the ancient litany of Skyrim's rulers. Women had commanded the armies of Skyrim before, but rarely had they become High Queen.

"You look too much the soldier anyway to be at home in a dress. I might as well put a frock on my housecarl. Besides," Elisif continued, grinning, "I can't imagine the Jagged Crown going well over frills and laces."

"Well, I won't be wearing it just yet, so this is your last opportunity to see me in frills," chuckled Gallica. The younger woman's face quirked, puzzled.

"Not wearing it? After all the trouble you went through to get it in the first place?"

"Not until the coronation. I intend to have the Emperor do the honors." Gallica glanced back down at her desk, shuffling aside some of the immensity of urgent parchment there. "I don't want there to be any confusion in the Emperor's mind or with the people about where I stand on reunification. With the Thalmor lurking at our doorstep, we can't do without it. If I assure the Emperor that we will remain loyal allies now, it will make it easier to accomplish some of my other plans later."

"Which are?" Elisif asked, raising an eyebrow. The light-hearted conversation about clothes and wedding presents had gone suddenly serious, and Gallica could see her chancellor's mind working. Mentally weighing the reaction of the people and the Jarls against the possible benefits most likely.

Gallica fixed her with a pointed look as she gathered her thoughts for what she was about to confess.  _Should I trust you?_  she thought. She wanted to believe that Elisif would not betray her, but in the wake of her experience during the war, and under Tullius' tutelage, she knew that there was no one in the Palace who could be completely trusted. But Elisif had as much to lose in this case as Gallica did, and so she decided to step out onto the limb.

"I say this to you alone because of an errand you once asked me to run on Torygg's behalf," Gallica began, her gaze not budging from Elisif's. She saw the younger woman's face pale slightly, no doubt remembering her husband's hunting horn that she had discreetly asked Gallica to convey to a shrine of Talos shortly after their first meeting. "And I expect that it will go no further than this room."

Wordlessly, Elisif nodded, and Gallica exhaled and returned the gesture, acknowledging the tacit pact between them.

"I've done a great deal of thinking over the last several months about the Empire and the Thalmor. The Thalmor outlawed the worship of Talos as a way to drive a wedge between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, and very clever on their part. But it's more than that. The Empire has been slowly crumbling since the last Septim died. The last member of the bloodline of Tiber Septim is gone, and with him the Amulet of Kings that sealed the protection of the Divines. And now we cannot so much as speak the name of Talos without the Thalmor breathing down our necks."

"You think that the absence of Talos has something to do with our present troubles?" Elisif asked, frowning.

"I know it," Gallica replied vehemently, her chair scraping across the stone floor as she rose.

Though she had learned to trust her instincts, she had never been one to go solely off of intuition. Still, the more she thought on it, the more she could feel it in her bones that her suspicions were correct. Tiber Septim had been the embodiment of the Empire, his bloodline the tangible pact between the gods and men. Without Tiber Septim - without Talos - how could the Empire of men hope to survive?

She considered her next words carefully. "The Thalmor have abducted and tortured enough people in this country. This will not continue. Not while I'm in charge here."

"But the White-Gold Concordat," Elisif protested, now quite vexed. "What can you possibly do to prevent it?"

"I've been reviewing the terms of the Concordat," Gallica replied, smiling now, as she picked up a handful of parchment sheets from her desk, holding them up. "The terms are rather vague, in fact. The treaty guarantees the Thalmor the right to conduct their inquisitions and travel freely through Skyrim. What it does  _not_  specify or guarantee is an exact mechanism for accomplishing this."

"You can't mean-" Elisif began incredulously and then stepped closer, lowering her voice earnestly. "You know what the Thalmor do to people. If you stand in their way, you know they'll be after you next."

"But I'm a loyal Imperial citizen. I killed the Stormcloak traitor and bent my knee to the Emperor himself.  I would never do anything to contradict the Emperor's decisions," Gallica replied sweetly - an affectation that she had picked up recently from Elisif, she realized with a small smile.  Her expression went serious again, though, as she continued her line of thought. "They're already after me, Elisif. They just haven't made their opening sally yet. The Thalmor will stop at nothing to cripple the Empire. If I can return some sense of order, they'll do whatever they can to see that I'm discredited or destroyed. We need Talos to prevail. We need all the help we can get. I can't publicly oppose the Thalmor until our troop strength has recovered and the Empire is in a position to do so, but I  _can_ slow them with bureaucracy and see that the worship of Talos is protected in secret. And I can assure the Emperor of my dedication now, so that he will trust me when the time comes."

Elisif's blue eyes studied Gallica for a moment, her eyebrows still high in a surprised expression - or was that doubt? - and then she nodded.

"Alright. What's our plan?"

"One thing at a time," Gallica replied pointedly.  She tapped a finger on one of the other reports on her desk. "Word came in from the north coast this morning. The Katariah will arrive in port tomorrow with the Emperor on board. Everything hangs on the Emperor's word.  _Everything_."

~~0~~

A stiff sea breeze howled through the stone streets of Solitude, flapping and snapping the multitude of banners and pennants draped from every conceivable surface. The sky overhead throbbed with the bright sapphire blue of a chilly spring day in northern Skyrim without a cloud to be seen. Gallica felt the tug of the wind at her cloak and the lashing of tendrils of hair that had escaped from her great dragonbone helm as she waited on horseback, surveying the busy harbor of Solitude, the white-capped inlet of the Karth River, and the rolling Sea of Ghosts beyond. Today was the day of reckoning. She fought hard to keep her attention focused and her heart from leaping up through her throat and fluttering away.

The Katariah was a masterpiece of a ship. Every line perfect, every timber smooth and well-tended, it gleamed in the midday sun like a collector's replica. From her perch on the headland, though, Gallica could still see the long Imperial banner, the Emperor's crest in dark crimson and bright gold, streaming from the mast.  _The Emperor_ , Gallica thought, feeling her horse shift lazily under her, her eyes lighting on the train of soldiers and riders processing slowly up the winding path from the sea. She could just make out the figure riding at the front, robes of deepest purple visible among the glinting, mirror-polished armor of his honor guard.

"It's not the old man himself," Tullius remarked, his voice low, from where he sat astride his own dappled grey steed beside her.

Gallica glanced at him, puzzled, and saw his mouth tip upwards in a tense smile. If he was nervous himself, he did not show it. Much. But, then, Gallica reflected, he had met the Emperor before and she had never dreamed of doing so.

"A body double, for security reasons. The real Emperor will take a different path. Still, we have a bit of a show to put on for the watching eyes."

For an instant Gallica was disappointed, but she recognized the wisdom of the plan. Skyrim was still troubled. It would be foolish for the Emperor to risk his life so casually until he was certain it was safe.

More details resolved themselves as the train approached. The "Emperor" rode on a pure white horse, no doubt of the finest breeding stock that Cyrodiil could produce.  Its breast strap was studded with gold and bore the ornate stamp of the Imperial Dragon at the center of the chest. The rider was an old man, though not decayed into fragility quite yet, and what remained of his hair was silver. His face was lined and sun-browned, the hawkish Imperial features prominent.

_This is not the real Emperor_ , Gallica told herself, but she found herself swallowing nervously anyway. If this man was a fraction as imposing as the real thing . . .

The Imperial train stopped at the apex of the harbor road, waiting, as a silence fell over the crowd. A seahawk keened overhead, and Gallica urged her mount forward, hearing the squeak of saddle leathers and the clack of hooves as Tullius did the same. She paused perhaps five feet from the Emperor's party, and raised her fist in a salutary gesture she had seen Balgruuf and other Nords use on formal occasions.

_Don't mess this up_ , she told herself, forcing her eyes to maintain contact with the Emperor's double.

"As High Queen and Jarl of this city, I welcome you to Solitude and to Skyrim, Titus Mede, second of the name, Emperor of All Tamriel. All hail the Empire! All hail the Emperor!" She called out, pitching her voice so that it echoed across the Emperor's guard, her own, and the crowd gathered behind her.

To her great relief, the chorus was immediately taken up by the crowd, hundreds of voices ringing out over the steep sea-cliffs. Gallica pressed her fist to her chest, waiting with trepidation, sensing that Tullius repeated the gesture as well next to her. The Emperor-impersonator smiled, edging his pale horse forward a few more feet.

"We are pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Queen Gallica. We have heard much of you over this last year," he replied, his voice melodious and cultured. His gaze flicked to Tullius, the smile broadening. "And it is good to see you again, General Tullius. We trust that everything is sufficiently in hand?"

"It is, Your Majesty," Tullius affirmed. His expression had returned to its stoic set, all soldier once more.

"Excellent. Shall we, then?"

Gallica turned her horse, as did Tullius, so that she would ride at the Emperor's right side and Tullius at his left. At a single nod from Tullius, an officer bellowed a command at the waiting honor guard, who clapped their fists against their segmented cuirass with a sharp clash and rattle of steel plates, every man and woman saluting Emperor and Queen as they passed. Gallica could see the forward rank of soldiers well, their faces fairly glowing with devotion and pride as they observed the Dragon of the North, arrayed in all her fearsome finery, and the Dragon of the South, clad in Imperial purple and gold, riding side by side for the first time before their very eyes.

_An event that they will one day tell their children about_ , Gallica realized, feeling instantly humbled by the immensity of the events that were unfolding around her. Her horse plodded onward as the sound of drums began behind her, the cheers of the crowds that lined the road towards the city gates just starting to rise on the wind as they welcomed the Emperor's triumphant arrival.  _In the future, will this be the end of the war or the prelude to another one?_

The parade went by as little more than a blur of colors, faces, and noise for Gallica. It was the first time she had publicly presented herself to the people of Solitude, and it was her name on their lips as much as it was the Emperor's. What his representative made of that, she did not know, but was certain that she would soon find out. No doubt the man was a highly trained operative that could recount details even she would have missed to his master later.

Once the Emperor-impersonator and his men were safely within the fortified walls of Castle Dour and dismounted in front of the entrance to the Emperor's Tower, the secure suite of rooms that was kept always at the ready for an Imperial visit, the body double turned to her and nodded.

"We have much to discuss, you and I," the man said, his benevolent smile undiminished. "If the welcome I have received this morning is any indication, I look forward to a most productive visit to Skyrim. Most productive, indeed."

Gallica nodded, bowing slightly, as the Emperor's body double swept into the tower and disappeared. Though he was not the Emperor himself, the man spoke with the authority of the Emperor, and that was no small thing. As she turned, she found Tullius waiting among the throng of men and horses that were dispersing into the fortress. She didn't have to ask what was on his mind, because the same subject was on hers. A few hours or a day, and they would know the Emperor's opinion of their marriage, as well as many other things that would change their lives. Now that the moment was almost upon them, the wait seemed almost too long to bear.

"That went as smoothly as could be expected," the general remarked. His expression eased slightly as he made eye contact with her, and he smiled. "For now, I have a meeting with Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus to go over the final security details for the Emperor's visit. Since you're here, it would be good for you to know what to expect as well. You will need to be kept abreast of the preparations and it will save the courier the trouble of delivering yet another report."

"That sounds like a plan," she replied, returning the smile at the reference to the stacks of unread reports on her desk, and allowed him to escort her into the keep.

The sight of the war room and the ever present Legate Adventus brought back a flood of conflicting memories, some good and some bittersweet. It was here that she had first met Tullius properly - beyond the chaos and destruction of Helgen - while she was seeking information about her brother and the location of his remains. She had refused his offer to re-enlist then, but less than half a year later - after Alduin, after her break with Ulfric - she had stood in this room again and asked for the second chance that had changed the course of the entire war. It was here, too, she realized, that she had begun to fall in love with Tullius, though she had refused to admit it. Her old life. Her old self. Not so far removed from who she was now, but still irrevocably different.

Gallica smiled at Legate Adventus and refused to let him bow to her, clasping his arm heartily like the friend he was. Then she turned her attention to the solemn Imperial officer sporting the Penitus Oculatus symbol who was waiting nearby. Commander Maro was of middle height and stocky in build. His dark hair and carefully groomed goatee bore streaks of grey, his long Imperial face was weather-beaten, and he had an exacting, careworn set to his features. He looked like a man who kept his own counsel. He bowed to her respectfully and then saluted General Tullius who had entered the room behind her.

"Any reports from your agents concerning the parade this morning? Any problems along the way?" Tullius asked, jumping straight to the point. The Commander shook his head.

"No, sir. Just a few unrelated scuffles in the crowd. Nothing of threat to the Emperor. It's the other Holds that I would be concerned about."

"Windhelm and Dawnstar I already know about. What's being done to shore up defenses and route out possible plots?"

Maro straightened slightly, as he considered his answer. Gallica watched him closely, curiously, noting how little in the man's expression changed. He was not like Tullius whose stern public face was carefully constructed to provoke a response. The somberness in Commander Maro's face was genuine, a feature of the man himself rather than a professional affectation.

"Guard strength in the holds is being steadily increased. My officers are supplementing the standing watch from their own ranks and from the Legion. Individuals with known ties to the Stormcloaks are being carefully observed and detained as necessary. We have eyes in all the most important places.  _Captain_ Maro will be making the final tour of the Hold capitols shortly in preparation for the Emperor's grand tour to assure that everything is as it should be."

"Your son?" Tullius asked, an eyebrow raising.

The ghost of a smile crossed Maro's face.

"There is no one more reliable that I could entrust this job to, sir," the commander acknowledged.  
  
Gallica's gaze moved back to Tullius. The general did not look pleased, his jaw working in an unconscious gesture that she knew meant he was considering something carefully.

"Hm. Well, I leave Penitus Oculatus business to your discretion, Commander. That is your arena, after all," he responded finally in a tone that indicated he wished it were otherwise.

Gallica knew as well as any other legionnaire that there had always been tension between the Imperial guard and the rest of the Legion. Tullius technically outranked Maro in all respects except where the Emperor's personal security was concerned, and she knew that this irked him more than a little. He was not the type of man who could easily pass over what he saw as an error and Gallica had to smile a little to herself. He would be the terror of the court when they were married.

The remainder of the meeting was concluded in short order. Gallica had to admire Commander Maro a little. Despite Tullius' growling, his affect never changed. He answered questions as reasonably as he could, and he seemed confident despite his taciturnity. As far as she was concerned, the Emperor was in good hands and that was a relief. The last thing she needed was another violent incident just when everything seemed headed for resolution.

As Tullius was escorting her back out into the bailey, a page bearing an Imperial badge on his cloak approached with a message in hand. Gallica waited as the General took it, flicked open the seal, and read. The message must have been a short one, for his eyes followed a few lines and his face went grave. He folded the note quickly and tucked it into the pouch at his belt.

"Bad news?" Gallica asked, too curious now to stop herself.

"Not exactly," Tullius responded. The lines on his face deepened as his brow furrowed. His dark eyes turned to meet hers and they were deadly serious, pointed in their meaning. "Tonight."

Gallica felt her stomach knot instantly. The Emperor - the real one - had sent for them _._ She gathered her breath again.

"Where?"

"I'll send a guard to escort you. Wear nothing that will attract attention in the street. This is to be kept secret apparently."

Gallica nodded, her heart beginning to thump against the inside of her chest.  _Everything that matters rides on what I say only a few hours from now,_ she thought.

Her eyes focused on the middle distance, lost in the many ideas and contingencies that she had been preparing over the last week, mentally checking them off, until she felt the brush of fingertips along her arm. Tullius leaned closer, his voice lowering until she knew only she could hear it.

"You can't fight the battle until your opponent takes the field. Whatever happens tonight, don't torture yourself about it now."

She smiled without looking at him and nodded. The pads of her fingers covertly found his with the briefest of reassuring pressures, before she glanced at the duet of soldiers she had elected as her personal guard detail for the afternoon, catching their attention, and moved away towards the northern gate of the keep.

_I won't torture myself_ , she thought as she strode out between the great fortified doors and onto the Palace road.  _Because whether the Emperor says yea or nay tonight, I will not lose. Skyrim may lose a Dragonborn High Queen, but_ I  _will not lose another loved one to duty and country. Not even to please the Emperor of Tamriel._

~~0~~

The night was dark with barely a sliver of the moons visible overhead. Blue and green tendrils streaked the sky over the Sea of Ghosts, dancing and twining across the cold sky as Gallica, dressed once again as a Legion officer, strode across the creaking docks towards the Katariah. The soldier who accompanied her was not familiar to her and he had said little except to tell her the way. The sight of two soldiers making their way out of the city and down to the docks had hardly stirred a notice from the city guard or the few citizens who were out late and still in their cups. When her guide turned onto the harbor road, Gallica knew immediately where they were bound.

The Katariah was even more impressive up close. The ship was almost breathtakingly large, a galleon fit for an Emperor.  Though it was beautiful, she could see the many reinforced beams and plates on the hull. The ship was built to withstand almost any type of maritime attack. Clearly the pride of the Imperial Fleet. The Penitus Oculatus officers that guarded the gangplank approached her, but one glance at her face and at the soldier, who nodded to them silently, and they stood back. 

_I'm expected_ , Gallica thought and felt an icy spike of sensation run up her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck.

She could not get it out of her head that this a trick of some kind.  This was not how she had imagined a visit from the Emperor would be conducted, with all this cloak and dagger secrecy.  It would be easy enough, away from anyone who might try to protect her, for the Emperor to have her seized and imprisoned if he indeed saw her as a threat to his throne rather than a possible ally. And Titus Mede II was nothing if not a clever strategist. 

_No_ , she thought, forcing the paranoid fear away. She had given the Emperor no reason to see her as anything but loyal.

_That means nothing_ , the cautious part of her reminded.  _More men have been betrayed by their most loyal and trusted servants than you could count. It's always the familiar knife in the back that manages to cut the deepest._

Gallica shook her head slightly, to clear her thoughts. Whatever other concerns she might have, she believed in Tullius. He would never send her into unnecessary danger, she was certain, not even on the Emperor's word. She would trust him in this, because he had, twice, trusted her when she had given him every reason not to. And she would trust in the Emperor, because if she could not trust him then all was already lost.

A steward of some sort was waiting inside the forward cabin of the ship, and he stood smiling at Gallica as she stepped inside, performing a deep, courtly bow. The gold chain he wore draped at his shoulders clanked and glimmered in the lantern light.

"Your Majesty," the man said. His gaze dropped to the waspwaisted Legion blade at her belt and he gestured gently. "Forgive the imposition, but if I might request that you leave your weapon with your escort."

The soldier who had accompanied her from the palace to the docks stepped forward. Gallica hesitated, studying the man's face under his helm. His grey eyes betrayed nothing, neither smiling to relieve her suspicion nor hardening to confirm it.  He simply waited for her response.  She drew the blade and held it out to him. By now, the Emperor had to know that, even unarmed, her Voice was deadly in itself. The loss of the sword was a tactician's tool, a means of reinforcing to her that she had left her own domain and entered his. The soldier took it with a wordless nod of acknowledgement and stepped back toward the door.

"Procedure, I'm afraid," the steward explained apologetically. "If you will follow me."

Gallica did so without comment, winding what seemed like a serpentine path through the ship, passing through cabins as richly finished as any in the Imperial City. Her hand clenched at her side, fighting the habitual urge to reach reassuringly for a sword that was not there.

Where was Tullius? He had implied that he would be here as well, but there was no sign of him.

_All is well_ , she told herself, repeating it like a mantra in her mind to stave off the constriction in her chest  from growing apprehension.  _All will be well._

Finally, they reached what seemed to be a small antechamber of some kind. Two guards stood on either side of a door that was ornately carved and, Gallica noticed, reinforced with iron studs that were too thick to be merely decorative. The steward stepped towards the guard on the right, leaning forward to murmur something. The question, whatever it was, was answered with a shake of the head, and the steward turned back, his pleasant smile undiminished.

"If you will pardon me a moment, your Majesty. I will inform the Emperor of your arrival."

The steward knocked discretely and disappeared into the room beyond for a moment. Gallica had a brief glimpse of a well-illuminated wood-paneled room before the door shut again. Dead silence descended on the antechamber for what felt like an age. Presently, the door opened again and the steward emerged, followed by the more robust, familiar frame of General Tullius.

Gallica's hope flared briefly, a smile starting and then dying on her lips as her eyes took in his expression properly. Tullius' face bore its usual stony appearance, lips set in a hard line, aquiline features stolid, sharp, and impassive. But his eyes, as they lit on her told a different story, one that made Gallica's heart drop into her stomach.  
  
General Tullius, Legion commander of a life-time of service who barely blinked in the face of dragons or armies, was afraid.

"His Imperial Majesty is ready for you," the steward told her, stepping aside to hold open the door with a gracious bow of respect. Gallica's eyes did not move from Tullius'.

_What is waiting for me in there?_  she asked as if he could read her thoughts, knowing that he could not.

The general nodded to her and, without a word, stepped out of her way to take up a position near the wall. Her eyes followed him, desperate to see any sign, any warning as to what she was to expect.  There was none.  if this was betrayal, then it was absolute.  There was nothing to be done about it now.

Turning, straightening, Gallica gazed through the open door and walked the three steps into the room beyond.

She found herself in a spacious cabin, decorated in rich, warm woods and well-polished furniture. Shelves of books lined the walls, and she could see closed doors that no doubt led off to more private rooms. The entire back wall of the cabin was taken up by a series of broad windows of finest glass that must have spanned almost the entire stern of the ship. Wrought iron and lead reinforcements traced an organic pattern of curves and lattices along the panes. Before the windows, though, and where her attention was immediately focused was an elegantly-constructed desk, covered with neat stacks of papers, a few bound tomes, and implements of writing and composition. Standing slightly behind the ornate desk, looking out through the night-blackened panes at the dark, glittering swells beyond, was a man.

He was tall for being of Imperial stock, lean, with a straight and disciplined posture that spoke of military background. The hands, clasped at the small of his back, were large and just beginning to knot slightly with age at the knuckles. When he had been younger, no doubt they had possessed a swordsman's grip. Gallica could see the glimmer of the gold signet ring of the Empire on his left hand from where she stood. His hair was more white than steel, but neatly clipped and carefully groomed. The deep purple robe he wore, clasped around the waist with a red sash, was of a deceptively simple cut, though the fabric glimmered with subtle threads of gold as he turned to look at her.

The face of the man in front of her resembled that of the body double she had encountered earlier in the day so closely that, for an instant, Gallica wondered if this were the same person - a trick of some kind. But when her eyes met the pair of sea-blue eyes watching her - not staring, not glaring, simply observing - she knew deep in her bones that this was no decoy. Those were the eyes of a man who had looked out over a hundred battlefields and seen other men and women bleed and die in his name. Those  eyes had taken in the vicious intrigues of the Imperial court and not only survived them, but turned them back ten-fold. Those were the eyes of a man who had tested his steel against the Thalmor and uncountable other foes, both foreign and at home, and come through victorious. The Emperor of Tamriel standing before her in the flesh without ruse or disguise.

Gallica immediately dropped to one knee, as best she could in her segmented armor, clasping her fist to her chest. She had run so many scenarios, so many intentions through her mind for this moment. In the end, she found that it was the legionnaire in her that took over by instinct.

"Does the High Queen of Skyrim kneel so easily?" the Emperor asked, his tone even and unemotional. It was impossible to tell whether he was pleased or displeased. But, to Gallica, it hardly mattered. It was the gesture that a lifetime of training required of her.

"I was an officer of the Legion before I was High Queen, Your Majesty. And I am not properly a Queen yet," she replied, dry mouthed.

It seemed to be the right answer. She heard the subtle shift of fabric and the floorboards in front of her.

"Rise," the Emperor instructed her. Gallica did as she was bid, turning her gaze back up to meet his. His inscrutable expression had not changed, though he had turned to face her directly. He regarded her for a moment longer before continuing. "You held the rank of legate before your unexpected elevation, did you not?"

"I did, Your Majesty."

"And how do you find this new position of yours?"

Gallica could not help but crack a smile. "Truthfully, I wish that I had the old one back. I'm more skilled with a sword than I am with a pen."

The corners of the Emperor's mouth turned upwards slightly, but whether in humor or condescension Gallica could not tell.

"It is the duty of the soldier to wield the sword on the ruler's behalf. It is the duty of the ruler to ensure that the soldier does not have to do so frivolously and often, and that is a far more difficult task. Do you believe that you are up to the challenge?"

"If I can do the work of a hundred swords with a single pen, Your Majesty, then I will learn to use the pen."

A genuine smile - faint, but real - appeared on the heavily lined face of Titus Mede. "You speak with your grandfather's voice, I see. How interesting, after all these long years, to find Gallicus' legacy alive and on the throne of Skyrim."

Before Gallica could try to determine how to answer, the Emperor moved on. He indicated a chair sitting before the desk as he moved to his own behind it. Wordlessly, Gallica complied, carefully waiting until he was seated before taking her own.

"I have been following your progress this last year," he continued. "You are accomplished for your age. I confess little surprise that the Jarls of Skyrim would prefer you to Elisif the Fair. It was my impression and the impression of others that you lacked the desire for such a position, however."

"Difficult times call for difficult decisions," Gallica replied, carefully forming her words. She felt like a school girl again, but undertaking an oral exam where the stakes were much higher than a failing grade or an instructor's sharp reprimand. "Duty summoned me to defeat the dragon Alduin. If duty summons me also to the throne, regardless of my personal desires, I would be remiss to refuse." And then, because she felt that it would not do to let the conversation become too one sided, she added, "I had hoped, Your Majesty, that you would agree to perform the official coronation while you are in Solitude."

A raise of an eyebrow from Mede, but what did it convey? The man in front of her was more opaque than even Tullius could ever hope to be.

"And I had always thought the Nords of Skyrim to be a rather belligerently independent people. You would not prefer, then, to do as all your predecessors have done and reaffirm Skyrim's self-reliance and right to home-rule at this critical juncture?"

"With respect, Skyrim has already demonstrated its independence by choosing me rather than the original candidate supported by the Empire," she pointed out, amazed at her own daring.

The Emperor of Tamriel smiled at that, thank the Divines, and Gallica felt a portion of the immense pressure that had been building up inside of her release slightly.

"I want the people of Skyrim to know that we are and will always be the strong arm of the Empire, in good times and in bad. And that their Emperor values them as such."

A thoughtful silence descended over the Imperial study. Gallica became briefly aware of the subtle sway of the ship for the first time since entering the craft as the man before her seemed to consider her, taking her measure, weighing her statement, determining her sincerity. His intelligent blue eyes, sharp as the blue steel Eorland Greymane produced at the Skyforge in Whiterun, seemed to dissect her - to reduce her to her component parts in order to reveal whatever faults and flaws lay inside. He stroked the wiry silver strands of his beard and leaned back in his chair slightly.

"I see no reason to prevent your succession," he told her at last, his tone more casual than before. "So, I will crown you High Queen with my blessing, if that is your wish. If you have the mettle to retain that title and your life, then you may be of use to me. We will speak more on that later."

His expression shifted, regarding her more shrewdly.

"Your prowess as a soldier cannot be denied, nor the worth of your particular gifts. You have your grandfather's tactical mind, as General Tullius attests. You have the admirable desire to protect your people and treat them with generosity, which I encourage in my vassal lords. But none of these things will save you, Gallica, when the wolves come prowling to your door in the lean years and the people you trust most plot in the corners to throw you into their jaws. Your immediate predecessor Torygg never learned that lesson to his great disadvantage. You must be willing to exterminate the wolves first. There is a ruthlessness - a heartlessness - inherent in the ability to wield power effectively and live to tell about it. And I do not see that in you. Not yet. Though," he chuckled," there is still time for you to learn."

The words cut her like a razor and Gallica stared back at him, a myriad of thoughts welling up in her mind like blood from a wound. A part of her was appalled to be hearing this from the mouth of the Emperor, whom she had sworn to protect and serve - the man that had been held up to her since childhood as the epitome of justice and honorable authority. At the same time, she knew he was right. She had seen it often enough in the military, and had occasionally been forced to carry out such unsavory tasks herself. There were circumstances in which there could be no mercy, in which decisions had to be made and executed quickly and without regard to the individuals they might hurt.

And he was right about her. 

_I am not ruthless_ , Gallica thought _,_ as her mind flitted back quickly over the decisions she had made over the last year. She never performed a ruthless act by choice. Even in killing Ulfric, she had bent to compassion and a sense of honor rather than expediency. It was a trait instilled in her early on, her father's influence - the Nord warrior who valued honor as much as might and who would hold true and loyal through blood and steel to the very end. It had ultimately killed her father, holding the line for a commander who had sacrificed him and his men because it was necessary to do so for the overall victory. She had never thought of it as a flaw before now, and it chilled her.

"But, I sense that you have more to say," the Emperor continued, as if he had not just wounded her.

Gallica drew in a breath and pulled her mind back from the spiral his comments had provoked. She cleared her throat softly.

"There was one other matter, Your Majesty, which I feel I must bring up now before anything else. It concerns marriage."

The Emperor's level brow rose with detached amusement.

"You do not require my permission to marry, Gallica. Though, I admit that I am intrigued to hear who the lucky bridegroom may be."

" _I_  may not require your permission, though you are wiser than I am in statecraft and I would like to know your opinion of my choice all the same, but the man I have chosen to marry  _does_  require it."

At this, the Emperor sat up straighter, leaning forward, alert. He regarded her with increased interest and, though his expression remained calm, there was the faintest hint that she had said something unexpected and caught him off guard. It surprised her more than anything else that had happened so far.

"Well, now you do have my attention. And the name of this man?" Mede asked, thoughtfully. "I can't imagine that you have made the acquaintance of one of my sons somehow without my knowledge - though the prospect of returning a Dragonblood heir to the throne one day does give one pause for thought."

"No," Gallica replied and took a deep breath before pressing onward to the point. "Before my nomination to the throne, General Tullius had proposed marriage to me and I had accepted. We had planned to announce the engagement after the Moot, but, as you see, unforeseeable circumstances have complicated things. I understand that, by marrying me, he would have to leave his post as commander of the Legion forces in Skyrim. He would need your permission to do so and assign a replacement. I ask you now to grant his request so that he might join me as consort in my reign."

For an instant, the Emperor's expression did not change and then his smile faded, his brow knitting into seriousness.

"You realize, of course, that this is likely to provoke the supporters of the dead usurper," he replied, his tone measured and to the point, "at a time of great uncertainty when you are trying to promote reconciliation - and consequently, this may undo all of the work that you and many other people have spent the better part of the last year fighting for. You risk making a great many sacrifices in vain."

He did not give her time to reply before continuing, his frown increasing.

"The match that you are suggesting, while reasonable when you were a mere noblewoman, is now far below your station. Tullius' family does hold influence on my council, but he is a second son with only modest resources aside from what he has earned himself through his service. The family's political fortunes have been steadily decaying for years. He will bring little to this potential marriage aside from his military acumen, which I do not deny is considerable but which he would lend to you anyway as an adviser. And better so. If you feel the need to marry soon, you would do better to choose someone who will not destroy your previous efforts at peace and who will bring something of value to the arrangement."

Gallica felt her scalp prickle with anxiety. She did not want Tullius' prediction to be true, because it meant that her troubles were just beginning if that was the case. But, she had set herself on a course of action and she would not falter now. It was the right thing to do. The only thing she was willing to do. And even the man who ruled Tamriel would not stay her from it.

"I'm sensible of the problems that this may cause. We have discussed the potential risks already," Gallica replied, gathering her composure. "I will have enemies regardless, no matter what I do. There is no decision I can make that will please the fanatically separatist elements that still exist in Skyrim. I will deal with them as they arise, and I have some thoughts already on how to quell any outrage over this marriage. However, if you will forgive me, Your Majesty, there is an error in your assessment of General Tullius' worth."

The Emperor's expression did not budge even a fraction. He waited as Gallica drew in a breath.

"He has one quality that no other man living possesses and that is my implicit and unwavering trust. I have enemies enough without inviting a potential foe into my bed. And, should tragedy befall me, I am confident in Tullius' ability to hold the reins of power steady without me until a successor is chosen. But more than that, I gave him my word - and there is no power in Aetherius or in Nirn that will induce me to break it."

The words rolled out of Gallica's mouth with more vehemence than even she had realized was boiling within her. She stared, fascinated and almost horrified with her own daring, her eyes locked with the Emperor's. His face, already set into lines of concentration, bordering on displeasure, might as well have been made of stone.

"And you believe that your word to General Tullius - and this . . . dalliance . . . between you - is important enough to risk the stability of  _my_ Empire," he replied dryly.

There was a rising coldness, a bite as sharp as any icy wind, in his tone that sent a shiver down Gallica's spine. But she had staked her ground now. There was no going back.

"I can't presume to know what is best for the Empire, Your Majesty. If you believe the risk is too great - if you doubt my ability to rule, a part of which will be to deal with this potential source of conflict - then I will abdicate voluntarily and wed General Tullius as nothing more than what I was when I agreed to do so and with no ill will. My interests are for the good of Skyrim and the good of the Empire. And even my best intentions to serve you and the country would come to nothing if my word means nothing."

There was a long, excruciating moment of silence as the Emperor's eyes bored into Gallica like awls of diamond. She watched as the creases in his brow and around his nose deepened in anger.

"Steward," he rapped out sharply, raising his voice enough to be heard without removing his glare from Gallica. Her heart seemed caught in her throat, but she did not break the stalemate, knowing instinctively that to do so would be to lose in some way. The door opened behind her, though she could not see it. "Send Tullius in."

Steel reinforced boots thumped on the floorboards behind her and Gallica heard the familiar shuffle and creak of Tullius in his armor and felt his presence there at her back without turning to look. She could almost feel the concern radiating off of him, though she knew him too well by now to imagine that it showed in his face to anyone but someone who knew him well. The Emperor glanced over her shoulder, his eyes narrowing in an expression that would probably have made lesser men crumple. For herself, Gallica remained as still as a statue, her eyes fixed resolutely on the Emperor, studying the small movements of muscles in his cheeks and jaw, the hard set of his eyes. The moment that would define her future, and potentially the future of Skyrim, was at hand. She did not want to misremember it later.

"The High Queen informs me that you and she are betrothed, General. Is this correct?" the Emperor barked, as authoritatively as any rank sergeant preparing to deliver a dressing down.

There was a brief hesitation and Gallica could almost hear Tullius' breathing stop. But something else was afoot, she could feel it. Her mind honed in on the Emperor, as her eyes and ears were giving her conflicting signals and she could not determine what exactly in the man's reaction struck her as discordant. She prevented herself from leaning forward, but her senses strained outward anyway as keenly as if she were sighting down an arrow at target.

"It is, sir," she heard Tullius say. His voice was clipped and formal, but grave. He already knew what was about to be said. Or thought he did.

"And you, my chief commander over all of my forces in Skyrim, see fit to allow this foolishness to continue, do you? To satisfy your own ambition, no doubt."

"I do, sir," Tullius replied, "but not from ambition. I have counseled the Queen of the risks to the best of my ability and I defer to her decision. I will accept the outcome regardless of what choice is made and I will be pleased to honor the betrothal - if she wishes - whether she is Queen, soldier, or civilian after we leave here tonight."

The Emperor scowled deeply, even as Gallica felt a warmth suffuse her chest, bolstering her resolve.

"And if I ordered you to be the sensible one and put an end to this now, since it is obvious that she will not?"

For an instant, even the lapping, rolling sound of the sea beyond the windows seemed to cease. It was an angle that Gallica had not considered, the one thing that she knew without a doubt Tullius would not be able to refuse, and she felt a lance of deep pain strike her.  Tullius, however much he loved her, would never refuse a direct order from the Emperor.  If that was how it was to end, then there was no way back.  One more scar on her heart to add to the litany.

"Then you would leave me with a difficult choice, Your Majesty," Tullius replied at last, his voice heavy and slow with regret.

The Emperor leveled a hard glare over at her shoulder at Tullius for a moment longer before turning his gaze back to Gallica. There was a different quality in the expression now, no less severe but almost grudging. His lip twisted slightly, as if considering something, before he spoke.

"Your Legate here is made of iron and brandy, Tullius.  I can well believe that she has dragon blood in her," he growled at last and Gallica braced herself for the "but". The Emperor of Tamriel leaned forward in his chair and, extraordinarily, he smiled. "If she turns out to be even half as loyal to me as she is to you, then I believe I can leave this province in safe hands. Permission granted. Do not disappoint me."


End file.
